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POEMS 


MARCELLA    AGNES    FITZGERALD 


Published  fok  the  Author  by 
THE  CATHOLIC  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY  CO. 

New  York 


Copyright,  1886,  by 
MARCELLA  AGNES  FITZGERALD. 


TO 

MY    NIOTHKR, 

AS     AN     OFFERING     OF     LOVE 
THIS  VOLUME 

IS 
AFFECTIONATELY  DEDICATED. 


908944 


CONTENTS. 


The  Lord's  Prayer, 


PAGE 
13 


MISCELLANEOUS 

October  Pictures, 

The  Voice  of  the  Flowers, 

Autumn  Fancies, 

Death  of  Padre  Serra, 

The  Women  of  the  Revolution, 

March, 

April  and  May, 

The  Bridal, 

Evening  at  Notre  Dame, 

Sunset  beside  the  Sea, 

A  Flower  in  Winter,    . 

Bird  Song  at  Midnight, 

Gertie, 

Easter  Bells, 

A  Magnolia  Blossom, 

Daniel  O'Connell, 

A  Message  from  Home, 

Harvest  Home, 

The  Mountain  Spring, 

Bridal  Wishes, 

Columbia, 

A  Cloud  Picture,    . 

Another  Year, 


21 

27 
30 
31 
38 
43 
45 
48 

51 
53 
55 
58 
60 
61 
63 
64 
67 
70 
72 

74 
76 

79 
80 


CONTENTS, 


The  Storm, 

Our  Dead  President,    . 

Donner  Lake,         . 

A  Message  to  Erin, 

A  Souvenir, 

Blind, 

Sunset, 

The  Church  of  Carmelo, 

Morning,    . 

Evening, 

Night, 

Violets, 

Autumn  amid  the  Hills, 

Bridal  Stanzas, 

The  Picnic, 

Irish  Music, 

Our  Flag,    . 

Onward, 

A  Spring-day  Ride, 

A  Mother's  Love, 

Wild-Flowers, 

Our  Angel, 

A  Winter  Day, 

To  J.  A.  L.,     . 

Ten  Years  Ago, 

The  Old  Adobe  House, 

To  F.  de  C.  M.,     . 

Bridal  Wishes. 

Poem, 

Gilroy  Hot  Springs, 

Sonnet, 


CONTENTS. 

7 

PAGE 

The  Martyrs  of  Memphis, 

.152 

Rain 

154 

lernian,             ..... 

.     156 

Sonnet,        ....... 

159 

Ireland's  Appeal,          .... 

.     160 

To  Erin,      ...                           .             . 

162 

Unforgotten,    .              . 

.     166 

'*  Glimpses  of  the  Supernatural," 

168 

A  Golden  Wedding,     .... 

.     170 

May-Day  Memories,           .... 

174 

The  Centennial  Ode,    .... 

.     176 

A  Memento,            ..... 

184 

Two  Pictures,               .... 

.     186 

To  J.  M., 

190 

"God  Bless  You,"       .... 

.     192 

The  Baby  Sleeps.    ..... 

193 

Confirmation,    ..... 

.     194 

Silver  Jubilee,          ..... 

.              196 

Las  Llagas,       ..... 

.     199 

Hawthorn  Blossoms,           .... 

201 

A  Deer's  Antlers, 

.    204 

Cheer  Up, 

206 

A  Memory  of  May,      .... 

.207 

To  Nellie, 

210 

A  Trinket,        ...... 

.    211 

Through  Idle  Hours,          .... 

212 

"  Golden  Sands,"        .... 

.    214 

God  Cares  for  All,               .             .             . 

216 

The  True  Comforter, 

.    218 

San  Diego's  Centenary,      .... 

220 

Thanksgiving  Hymn, 

.    224 

8                                      CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Welcome  to  the  Firemen, 

225 

To  a  Friend,     ..... 

.   228 

A  Fair  Spring  Day, 

230 

To  M   E.  B,    .- 

.   232 

Waiting,     ..... 

234 

Greeting  to  the  Pioneers, 

.   235 

Sunrise  in  Winter, 

239 

The  Little  Hat  and  Shoes, 

.   241 

To  Annie,                .... 

243 

A  Token,          ..... 

.   245 

The  Robin,              .... 

247 

A  Christian  Hero,        .... 

.  248 

Sunshine  and  Shadow, 

251 

To  Fannie  R.,               .... 

•    253 

Dear  Motherland,                .              .              .              . 

254 

In  the  Dawn,  ..... 

•   257 

Bridal  Wishes, 

.         258 

Glory  to  God,                .... 

.   259 

Bishop  of  Joppa,     .             .             .             .             . 

261 

Freedom,          ..... 

.   263 

At  Daylight's  Close,            .             .             .             . 

266 

Beside  the  Sea,              .... 

.   267 

Amid  the  Pines,      .              .              .              .             . 

269 

Raising  the  Flag  at  Monterey, 

.   272 

San  Carlos  del  Carmelo,     .             .             .             . 

275 

Califor.nia's  Welcome  to  Most  Rev.  P.  W.  R 

lORDAN,      .    281 

SACRED   SUBJECTS. 

To  the  Holy  Face.              .             .             .             . 

295 

The  Most  Precious  Blood, 

.    297 

"Jesus  Meek  and  Humble," 

.            298 

CONTENTS. 


PACK 

The  Rescue  of  the  King,         .             .             .             . 

.      300 

At  Benediction,      ..... 

304 

Our  Lady  of  Perpetual  Help, 

.     306 

The  Rosary,             ..... 

308 

Notre  Dame  de  France,           .             .             .             . 

.     310 

The  Assumption  of  Our  Lady, 

315 

"  Notre  Dame  de  Bon  Secours," 

•     319 

Telling  the  Beads,               .... 

322 

Our  Lady's  Dolors,      .             .             .             .             . 

•     325 

Our  Lady  of  Mount  Carmel,                       .             . 

331 

My  Lady's  Jewels, 

•  334 

Our  Lady  of  Knock,           .... 

337 

Lines,                ...... 

•   340 

October  Roses,        .             .             . 

343 

"  Hail,  Full  of  Grace  !  "         . 

•    345 

Cause  of  our  Joy,                .... 

346 

Ave  Maria,       ...... 

•  348 

Through  Mary's  Heart,      .... 

350 

To  Saint  Joseph,          .             .             .             .             . 

•   352 

Saint  Patrick's  Day,            .... 

354 

Saint  Benedict's  Day,                .             .             .             . 

•   356 

Saint  Dominic,        ..... 

360 

Saint  Thomas  of  Aquinas,       .             . 

•  364 

Saint  Benedict  Joseph  Labre, 

.         367 

.Saint  Agnes,     . 

■  370 

Saint  Viviana,          ..... 

372 

To  my  Guardian  Angel,           .             .             .             . 

.  375 

For  the  Souls  in  Purgatory, 

.         376 

TheCalla,        .... 

■   378 

Remember  the  Dead,          .... 

380 

A  Message,       ..... 

382 

CONTENTS, 


In  Mission  Time, 
All  Souls'  Day, 


LEGENDS  AND   BALLADS. 


The  Cross, 

Philip's  Mother 

The  Rose,  . 

Legend  of  San  Gabriel, 

The  Happiest  Christmas,  . 

The  Haunted  Dell,     . 

The  Poor  Man's  Treasures, 

Dolores, 

Ashes  of  Roses, 

Las  Lagrimas, 

The  Battle  of  Clavijo. 

Little  Elsie,      . 

Little  Gaspard's  Dream,     . 

The  Haunted  Homestead, 

Conversion  of  Father  Hermann 

"  Bread  upon  the  Waters," 

Maud's  Hero, 

Gertrude, 

Dimas, 

Homeward  Bound, 

A  Christmas  Legend, 

King  Alfred  and  the  Orphan. 

lyCgend  of  San  Miguel, 

At  the  General  Rodeo. 


CAGE 


395 
400 

407 
413 
416 
421 
430 
433 
437 
439 
442 
447 
450 
455 
457 
461 

471 
473 
477 
481 
487 
490 
495 
•  499 


The  LORD'S  Prayer. 


THE  LORD'S  PRAYER. 


''Our  Father,  who  art  in  Heaven^'' 

*'  /^UR  Father  " — words  of  loving 

\j     Thou  hast  taught   our  lips   to   frame, 
Giving  to   earth's  erring  children 

The  dear  shelter  of  Thy  name. 
Father  of  tlie  tribes  that  wander 

In   the  darkness  far  away, 
Father  of  the  hearts   that  love   Tliee, 

Love  and   serve  Thee   day  by   day ; 
Thou  who  rulest  the   highest  heavens, 

Thou  whose  voice  the   wave  commands, 
Thou   whose  mandate  called   to  being 

All  the  known  and  unknown  lands, 
Look  on  us  with  eyes  of  mercy, 

Let  our  lives  Thy  love   still  claim, 
Make   us,   in  our  daily  actions, 

Worthy  children  of  Thy  name. 

^^ Hallowed  be  lliy  name.'' 

By  the   lips  of   every   people 

Let   Thy   praises.   Lord,  be   told  ; 

All   Thy  glories,  all   Thy  beauties, 
Let   their  eloquence   unfold. 
13 


14  THE  LORD'S  PRAYER. 


By  the  sound  of  grand  hosannas 

Thrilling  through   cathedral  aisles 
When  the  organ's  rolling  paeans 

Shake  the  shining  marble  piles; 
By  the  homage  of  the  mighty, 

By  the  homage  of   the   poor ; 
By  the  reverential  worsliip 

Yielded  while  the  years  endure; 
By  the  sweetest   thoughts  and  purest 

Which  Thy   favored   spirits   frame  ; 
By  the   lisping  tones  of  childhood, 

Father,   "  hallowed  be   Thy   name." 


^^  Thy  kingdom  come:'' 


To  the  rich,  on   whom   Thy  blessings 

Have  been  showered  with  generous  hand^; 
To  the  humble,  to  the  noble, 

To  the  honored  of  the  land ; 
To  the  pure,  sweet  heart  of  childhood, 

To  the  sad,  worn  heart  of  age ; 
To  the   wanderer,  to  the   laborer, 

To  the  scholar,  to   the  sage ; 
To  the  faithful   who  are    toiling 

On  their  pilgrimage  of  pain. 
Hoping,  praying  that   their  efforts. 

That  their  striving,  be  not  vain  ; 
To  tiie  souls  by  sorrow   stricken, 

To  the  lips  with   anguish  dumb, 
In  its  bright   and  fadeless  beauty, 

Father,  let  "  Tiiy   kingdom  come." 


THE  LORD'S  PRAYER.  I  5 


"  Thy  will  be  do  tie  on  earth  as  it  is  in  Heaven  ^ 

Let  the  laws  Thy  love  hath   given, 

Lest  our  faltering  footsteps  stray, 
Mould  our  lives  and   draw   us  closer, 

Father,   to   Thy   heart  each  day. 
Bind   our  spirits   with   Thy  fetters  ; 

Let   us  only  live   and  move 
In  the   doing  of  Thy  mandates. 

In   the  seeking  of  Thy  love. 
As  the   shining  seraphs  standing 

In   the  presence  of  Thy  throne 
Haste  in   joy  to   do  Thy  bidding 

When   Thy  will   Thou  makest  known, 
So  we  pray,   O  heavenly  Father  ! 

That   from   morn   till   set  of  sun, 
In    our  thoughts  and  words  and   actions, 

May  "Tiiy  holy  will  be  done." 

^^  Give  ns  this  day  our  daily  bread.'' 

Hearken   to  the   sad  appealing, 

Hearken  to  the   wailing  cry. 
Fill  the  wants   whose   ceaseless   craving 

Thou   alone  canst  satisfy. 
From  the  lips  by  famine  whitened. 

From   the  lips  by  plenty  fed, 
Rises  up  the  meek  petition, 

Father,  for  our  daily   bread — 
F'or  the  bread  that  sates  all  hunger, 

For  a  knowledge  of  Thy  word, 


\  6  T//£  LORD'S  PR  A  YER. 

Pure  and   perfect  in   its   power 

Till   the  inmost  heart  is   stirred. 
Give   to  us  the   Bread  of  Angels, 

The   dear  Banquet   of  Thy   love ; 
Feed  us,  strengthen   and  sustain  us, 

Till   we   see   Tliy  face   above. 

^^ Forgive   us   our   trespasses,  as  ive  forgive   them  that 
trespass  against  us.'* 

By  Thy  love,   which   none   can   measure, 

By  Thy  pity,   which  all  feel, 
Pleading  pardon   for  each   trespass, 

Father,   at   Thy   feet  we  kneel. 
Pardon  for  the   grave   offences 

Which   our  wayward   liearts  have  wrought, 
Pardon   for  each   word  unkindly, 

For   each   dark,   ungenerous  thought  : 
Pardon  us,  and   teach   us.  Father, 

Our  forgiveness  to   bestow 
Upon    all   who  wrong  or  grieve   us 

On   our  journey  here  below  : 
Pardon   us  ;    and  as   we   pardon 

At  Thy  bidding,  God   of  love. 
May  we  be  refreshed  and  strengthened 

By  Tliy   graces   from   above. 

^^And  lead  us  ?iot  into  ieviptation:*' 

From   the   countless  dangers  waiting 
For  the  guileless  heart   of  youth. 

From  temptations   which   allure   us 
In    the  borrowed   garb   of  truth, 


THE  LORD'S  PRAYER.  I  J 


From  the  fiend's   wiles  delusive, 

From  his  cruel  spell  of  power, 
'Neath  Thy   love's  protecting  mantle 

Shield  us,   Father,  hour  by  hour. 
Bid   Thy   angels  watch  around   us, 

Lest  the   "Evil  One   of  sin," 
Finding   each   heart's   portal   open 

And  unguarded,  enter  in. 
By  Thy  will  divine,  oh  !    fashion 

Every  thought   and   word  of  ours, 
Till   they  glow   in   deathless   beauty, 

Blossoms  for  Thy  garden   bowers. 

^'' But  deliver  i/s  from  evil.      Amen'^ 

Keep  us   from   the   evils   round  us. 

From  the    woes   that  walk  by  night ; 
From   the   clouds   whose   dreary  darkness 

Fain  would   veil  from   us   Thy  light  ; 
From  the  hatred  of  our  foemen. 

From   their  malice,  from  their   spleen, 
From   their  venomed   words  of  anger 

Piercing   us   like  arrows  keen. 
Weak   and  vain   our  spirits'  battling 

If  no  aid  by  Thee  is  given, 
If  our  strength  and   courage  spring  not 

From  Thy  boundless  wealth  in   Heaven. 
So  "  deliver  us   from   evil," 

Humbly,   Father^   do  we  pray, 
Lest  our  deeds,  when   weighed,  be   wanting 

In   the  dread   accounting  day. 


Miscellaneous. 


OCTOBER  PICTURES. 


LEAGUES  of  plain  where  gold  and  umber  blend 
and  merge  in  wondrous  tinting; 
Mountains    east    and    west    arising,   giant    warders 
proud  and  high  ; 
Rivers  where  the  white-armed  plane-trees  fling  abroad 
their  autumn  banners  ; 
Woodlands  opening,  in  dim  vistas,  scenes  of  beauty 
to  the  eye  ; 

Cottage    homes    in    shade    embowered,    from    whose 
lowly  chimneys  rising 
Soar   the   curling  smoke-wreaths    softly   out    upon 
the  frosty  air, 
As  o'er  Santa  Anna's  summit  glows  the  morning  sun 
in  splendor. 
Making  all  the  southern  valley  smile  in  beauty  rich 
and  rare. 

But  the  iron  horse  speeds  northward,  and  we  watch 
the  sliifting  vision — 
Hill  and  river,  wood  and  mountain,  and  each  quiet 
country  home — 
Till  we  pass  the  forest  arches,  and  to  westward  see 
El  Toro 
Lifting  up  his  wreathed  forehead   proudly  to  the 
azure  dome  : 


22  OCTOBER  PICTURES. 

At  his    feet  the  crumbling  ruins  of   the    old    adobe 

lying, 
'Neath  whose  roof  so  oft  were  slieltered  Priest  and 
Statesman,  Bard  and  Sage, 
Where  the  Warrior  from  the  battle,  and  the  rich  and 
poor,  were  welcomed 
By   tlie   smiling  lips   of   beauty  and    the    reverent 
voice  of  age. 

Onward  still,  the  glorious  sunlight  painting  many  a 
fairy  picture 
On  the  treeless  eastern  mountains,  on  the  wooded 
western  slopes, 
Making  brighter  still  the  orchards,  ruddier  still   the 
laden  vineyards, 
Haloing  fields  where  plenteous  harvests  crown  the 
happy  farmer's  hopes. 

Westward,  half  by  hills  encircled,  we  behold  thecalm 
Laguna  ; 
Eastward,  close  beside  the  roadway,  the  Coyote's 
winding  course — 
Now  a  scarcely  flowing  streamlet,  but,   when  winter 
storms  are  raging, 
Bearing  all  a  torrent's  swiftness,  all  a  river's  angry 
force. 


Here  the  hills  draw  close  together,  until  fancy  loves 
to  picture 
These  low  points  by  nature  welded  in  a  strong,  un- 
broken chain, 


OCTOBER  PICTURES. 


23 


Till    the   hand    of  the    All-Seeing  smote  the  jagged 
rocks  asunder, 
That  the  springs  which  feed  the  river  might  send 
tribute  to  the  main. 


Once  again  the  valley  widens,  stretching  out  in  broad 
expanses 
Where  the  power  of  toil  is  striving,  striving  for  the 
mastery  yet, 
And   we  see  the    untamed    beauty  of  the    panorama 
fading, 
With  a  feeling  strangely  blended,  half  of  sadness 
and  regret. 


But  the  sun  has  veiled  his  splendor,  and  gray,  rolling 
clouds  of  vapor 
Hide  the  blue  skies   bending  o'er  us,    sweep  o'er 
mountain-side  and  glen, 
Till,  like  spectres  dim  and  ghostlike,  gleams  afar  the 
fair  outlining 
Of  the  white-walled  hamlet  clustered  on  the  hills  of 
Almaden. 


How  the  busy  hand  of  labor  leaves  its  trace  on  all 
around  us, 
And  we  muse  upon  the  progress  of  the  swiftly  pass- 
ing years  ! 
On  the  changes  they  have  witnessed,  on  the  blessings 
they  have  brought  us, 
Do  we  muse  while  gliding  onward  past  the  lonely 
''  Hill  of  Tears." 


24 


OCTOBER  PICTURES, 


And  the  friends  whom  once  we  cherished — how  our 
hearts  go  out  to  meet  them ! 
Thoughts  of  hours  we  spent  together,  thoughts  of 
days  for  ever  fled, 
As  we  gaze  upon   the   cypress   and  the   flowers  that 
love  has  planted 
Round  the  silent  streets  and  dwellings  of  the  *'City 
of  the  Dead." 

Lo  !     beyond    the    stately    poplars   in    their    flaming 
robes  of  yellow, 
And  the   grove-like  groups  of  foliage  all  in  autumn 
tin  tings  gay, 
Rise   to  heaven  the  soaring   spires    and    the    stately 
domes  that  tell  us 
We  are  near  our  goal  and  entering  thy  fair  city, 
San  Jose ! 

"San  Jose  ! — the  name  like  magic  calls  to  mind  the 
olden  Pueblo, 
With  its  quaint,  white-walled  adobes,  and  its  quiet 
streets  and  lanes 
Through  which  toiled  the  rude  carretas,  and  the  cov- 
ered wagons  bearing 
To  new  homes  the  household  treasures  of  the  Pil- 
grims of  the  Plains. 

Now  how  changed  !     A  mighty  city  stretches  where 
then  herds  were  straying, 
With  its  fair  and  lofty  temples,  and  its  halls  where 
learning  rules, 


OCTOBER  PICTURES. 


25 


Where  from  distant  homes  assemble  children  of  each 
clime  and  nation, 
Quaffing  here  in  draughts  that  strengthen  all  the 
wisdom  of  the  schools ; 

Streets  through  which  the  waves  of  traffic  beat  from 
early  dawn  till  twilight, 
Lined  with    homes    where   joy    abideth,  and   with 
palaces  of  trade  ; 
And  within  her  walls  are  gathered  all  the  wealth  of 
art  and  science, 
And   the  boasted  powers  of   Progress    'neath   her 
banners  are  arrayed. 

Oh  !  she  sits  a  queen  of  beauty  'mid  her  brightly  bloom- 
ing gardens, 
With  her  far-famed   Alameda  leading  out  toward 
the  west ; 
And  she  views  the  peerless  valley  that  has  yearly  paid 
her  tribute 
In  the  wine  and  oil  and  corn  garnered  from   her 
fertile  breast. 


Lo  !  where  once  the  sheltering  willows  lured  the  loi- 
tering breeze  to  wander, 
Now  the  scent  of  fragrant  apples  perfumes  the  Oc- 
tober air, 
And  a  wilderness  of  beauty,  homesteads,  vineyards, 
orchards  verging 
On  the  smooth  and  level  roadway,  greets  the  trav- 
eller everywhere. 


26  OCTOBER  PICTURES. 

City  rich  in  wealth  unbounded,  rich  in  homes  of  ease 
and  comfort, 
Great  in  all  that  art  or  nature  can  devise  to  give 
thee  grace, 
Royal  in  thy  wondrous  dower,  in  thy  manifold  pos- 
sessions. 
Queen  by  right  of  years  of  queenhood,  queen  by 
right  of  power  and  place  ! 

Queen  of  hearts  whose  love,  so  loyal,  years  of  change 
have  left  unaltered, 
Faithful  still  as  when  unclouded  shone  the  halcyon 
days  of  youth, 
Still  we  meet  the  same  warm  welcome  from  the  smil- 
ing lips  of  friendship 
That  are  sanctified  for  ever  by  the  holy  chrism  of 
Truth. 

Blessings  on  thee,  blessings  on  them,  that  their  hearts 
and  homes,  rejoicing, 
Be  refreshed  in  fullest  measure  by  each  influence 
divine  ! 
And  the  fairest  gifts  and  graces,  and  the  rarest,  sweet- 
est pleasures, 
Dwell  within  thee,  flow  around  them,  is  the  wish 
that  we  would  twine. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  FLOWERS. 

A    SOUVENIR,    SEPTEMBER    12,    187I. 


WHILE  through   the  night,  with  far-reechoing 
tramp, 
The  iron  charger  sped, 
By  the  pale  lamplight  in  the  crowded  car 
Thy  floral  gift  I  read. 

For  the  sweet  flowers  thy  loving  hands  had  twined 

Held  each  within  its  heart 
A  lesson  pure  and  holy  there  enshrined, 

In  fragrance  to  impart : 

A  lesson  written  in  its  glorious  dyes 

By  the  great  Master's  hand — 
A  lesson  beautiful  to  mortal  eyes — 

For  all  to  understand. 

I  clasped  the  Laurestina's  snowy  bloom — 

"  A  token,"  sweet,  from  thee  ; 
Pansies  and  Rosemary  whose  pleading  said  : 

'*  I  pray  remember  me." 

The  green  leaves  of  the  Violet,  promise-fraught, 

"I  will  be  faithful  still"; 
The  Lilac  whispering  of  a  love  which  yields 

In  all  things  to  God's  will. 


28  THE    VOICE   OF   THE  FLOWERS. 

The  Oleander  ripe  with  blushes  spake 

Its  cautioning  words  :  "  Beware  I 
When  round  thy  path  the  waves  of  evil  break, 

Shun  thou  the  tempter's  snare." 

The  Lavender  witli  fragrance-giving  breath 

Sang  softly  thus  :  "  Believe 
Not  all  thou  hearest ;  words,  though  sweet,  may  be 

Attuned  but  to  deceive." 

The  Aster  said  :  "  Seek  thou  in  quiet  ways 

The  beautiful  in  life, 
Where  the  clear  stream  of  calm  contentment  flows 

Unchecked  by  worldly  strife." 

"There,"  sighed  the  queenly  Rose,  "in  some  fair 
bower, 

How  sweet  my  task  would  be 
To  guard  in  guileless  purity  and  trust 

The  blush  of  modesty  !" 

The  fragrant  Vervain  spoke  of  noble  hearts 

That  wake  to  Beauty's  feast 
When  blossoms  tremble  on  the  dewy  lawn, 

And  Spring  treads  through  the  east  ; 

Of  hearts  that  feel  the  joys  which  Nature  gives 

In  measure  deep  and  grand. 
But,  filled  with  joy,  feel  too  the  thorns  which  wound 

The  lover's  outstretched  hand. 

In  robes  of  purple  and  of  orange  dight, 

The  gay  Lantana  smiled — 
Emblem  of  rigor,  yet  in  outward  garb 

Fair  as  earth's  fairest  child. 


THE    VOICE   OF   THE  FLOWERS.  29 

The  Immortelle,  pale  as  though  washed  in  tears, 

Spoke  of  remembrance  deep 
And  strong  as  life,  although  the  loved  have  sunk 

Into  their  last,  long  sleep. 

The  Cypress    whispered  :    "  Dread  not   death  ;    it 
brings 

To  true  hearts  sweet  release  "  ; 
And  the  Palm  sang  its  proud,  triumphal  hymn 

Of  victory  and  peace — 

Of  victory  o'er  passions  and  o'er  woes 

Upon  this  earthly  shore. 
Of  peace  eternal  in  the  realms  of  bliss 

When  life's  short  fight  is  o'er. 

Thus    while    the   glittering   stars    of  night   looked 
down 

O'er  forest,  field,  and  dell, 
The  spirits  of  the  blossoms  sang  to  me 

From  out  each  perfumed  cell. 

And  treasured  in  the  depths  of  my  true  heart 

I  keep  the  happy  hours 
Spent  with  thee  when  the  sunset's  golden  light 

Illumed  the  garden  bowers. 

And,  resting  'neath  the  tall  Acacia's  shade, 

We  heard  a  wild  bird  trill 
A  song  full  of  the  endless  peace  and  joy 

Which  thy  dear  home  doth  fill. 


A  UTUMN  FANCIES. 


LO  !  the  Autumn's  thousand  torches 
Have  been  lighted  in  the  wood, 
Where  the  poison  vine  is  dripping 

With  the  summer's  reddest  blood, 
And  the  glades  are  brown  and  barren 
Where  of  yore  the  wild  oats  stood. 

In  the  marsh  amid  the  willows 
White  and  purple  asters  shine, 

And  the  golden-rod  is  lifting 
Chalices  of  amber  wine — 

A  libation  to  the  goddess 

By  the  ancients  deemed  divine. 

And  the  shadows  of  life's  autumn 
Gather  round  us  thick  and  fast, 

Youth's  bright  joys  like  summer's  leaflets 
Flutter  downward  on  the  blast, 

And  the  sunny  skies  of  friendship 
By  drear  clouds  are  overcast. 

But  God   grant  that  through  life's  autumn 
Flowers  of  Faith  and  Hope  may  bloom, 

And  the  golden  light  of  Charity 
Its  darkest  hours  illume, 

Till  each  moment  in  perfection 
Glows  with  love's  celestial  bloom  ! 
30 


DEA  TH  OF  PADRE  SERRA. 

AUGUST    28,    1784. 


SOLEMN  and  sweet  the  mighty  waters  sang 
Throughout  that  August  day, 
Filling  with  billowy  waves  of  sound  the  air 
Round  quiet  Monterey, 

Till  all  the  gorges  of  the  wooded  hills 
Sent  back  their  tones'  deep  strain, 

And  pine  and  cypress  blended  in  one  voice 
Their  answer  to  the  main. 

Veiled  in  the  azure  hue  the  summer  weaves 

With  subtle  golden  dyes, 
The  untamed  scene  irt  its  weird  beauty  seemed 

Drawn  nearer  to  the  skies  : 

The  forest's  fragrance  drifted  down  the  slopes, 

As  though  an  Angel's  hand 
Had  touched  the  boughs  in  passing,  and  had  flung 

Their  freshness  o'er  the  land  ; 

And  all  the  pulsing  echoes  of  the  waves 

Seemed  but  the  beating  wings 
Of  seraphs  waiting  till  a  precious  soul 

Would  burst  earth's  fetterings. 


32 


DEATH  OF  PADRE   SERRA. 


For  in  the  Mission,  worn  with  days  of  pain, 

And  toil,  and  journeyings  long, 
Good  Padre  Serra  heard,  in  accents  clear. 

The  dear  Death-Angel's  song, 

And  saw  his  flaming  sword  divide  life's  clouds. 

And  with  its  glorious  ray 
Illume  the  path  whose  course  doth  upward  lead 

To  realms  of  fadeless  day. 

But  o'er  his  spirit  fell  no  shade  of  dread, 

No  fear  of  death's  grim  power; 
The  love  which  lit  his  pathway  during  life 

Sustained  him  in  that  hour. 

Prayerful  and  patient  as  his  wont,  he  marked 

The  moments  gliding  past; 
Ah  !  those  who  looked  upon  him  little  deemed 

That  day  on  earth  his  last. 

Upon  that  morning  Canizares  came, 

A  hero  tried  and  true, 
Fresh  from  the  dangers  of  the  sounding  deep. 

And  glories  of  Peru. 

He  had  been  one  of  that  heroic  band 

Who,  fifteen  years  before, 
With  Padre  Serra  lifted  first  the  cross 

On  California's  shore. 

Since  then  his  vessel  traversed  distant  seas, 
Strange  winds  his  flag  had  blown, 

And  he  had  drifted  through  the  breathless  calm 
Of  the  fierce  torrid  zone. 


DEATH  OF  PADRE   SERRA.  33 

Now,  after  all  his  wanderings,  once  again 

His  ship  at  anchor  lay- 
Where  the  rare  golden  sunlight  of  the  west 

Shone  bright  o'er  Monterey. 

Thence  he  had  hastened,  all  his  heart  aglow, 

To  fair  Carmelo's  hall. 
Eager  to  hear  from  lips  prayer-sanctified 

Love's  benediction  fall. 

And  Padre  Serra  welcomed  him  with  joy. 

Rising  to  clasp  his  hand, 
And  give  him  cordial  welcome  o'er  and  o'er 

To  the  wild  western  land ; 

Questioning  of  every  voyage  he  had  made. 

The  countries  he  had  seen. 
And  all  the  deeds  whose  kindling  glories  filled 

The  years  that  came  between  ; 

Then  gently  said  :  "  Dear  friend,  I  truly  bless 

The  hand  of  the  Most  High, 
Which  led  thee  here  that  I  might  see  thy  face 

Once  more  before  I  die. 

"  For  it  is  sweet  to  know  the  friend  of  years 

Will  bear  me  to  my  rest, 
And  kindly  place  the  holy  churchyard  clay 

Above  rny  pulseless  breast." 

Turning  to  Father  Francis,  'mid  the  tears 

Of  those  who  gathered  round — 
The  poor  expression  of  a  woe  and  grief 

Whose  fulness  knew  no  bound — 


34  DEATH  OF  PADRE   SERRA. 

He  said  :  "  I  crave  one  little  boon  of  thee, 

Too  small  to  be  denied  : 
Lay  me  to  rest,  when  I  have  passed  away, 

By  Padre  Crespi's  side." 

Checking  tlie  sobs  tliat  quivered  in  his  voice, 

Spoke  Canizares  then  : 
*'Thy  mission  is  not  all  accomplished  yet 

Among  the  sons  of  men. 

''  In  the  drear  darkness  of  the  pagan  night 

Thousands  are  born  and  die  ; 
For  the  baptismal  waters'  liealing  grace 

The  wailing  infants  cry  ; 

^'  They  wait  thy  coming:  shall  they  wait  in  vain  ? 

Courage,  my  noble  friend  ! 
Christ  will  restore  thee  to  us  ;  this  cannot — 

This  cannot  be  the  end," 

But  Padre  Serra  only  calmly  smiled 

At  Canizares'  zeal  : 
His  soul  had  foretaste  of  the  boundless  joy 

God's  chosen  servants  feel. 

And  while  his  words  prophetic  filled  with  pain 

Each  loving  listener's  breast, 
He  rose  and  sought  the  pallet  in  his  cell, 

Saying,  "  I  go  to  rest." 

The  moments  fled  ;  then  Father  Francis  sought 

The  holy  cell  once  more, 
To  find  that  Padre  Serra  slept  for  aye. 

His  earthly  trials  o'er. 


DEATH  OF  PADRE   SERRA.  35 

As  a  child  slumbering  on  his  mother's  breast, 

Peaceful  and  calm  he  lay  ; 
But  at  the  angel's  call  his  soul  had  fled 

Its  tenement  of  clay. 

Upon  his  pulseless  breast  his  gentle  hands 

Still  clasped  the  cross  he  bore 
Since  first,  a  novice  'mid  Saint  Francis'  sons, 

The  garb  of  gray  he  wore. 

Upon  his  face,  no  longer  marked  with  care, 

A  glow  of  heavenly  light, 
As  though  the  throne  of  Calvary's  Lamb  had  shone 

Upon  his  failing  sight  ; 

As  though  his  closing  ears  had  caught  the  sound 

Flung  from  seraphic  lyres, 
The  strains  of  victory  and  of  triumph  sung 

By  heaven's  exultant  choirs; 

As  though  he  saw  the  guerdon  which  would  crown 

His  labors  here  below — 
Each  Mission  planted  'mid  the  pagan  tribes, 

A  gem  of  purest  glow. 


Then  over  all  the  tranquil  summer  scene 
Tolled  forth  the  funeral-bell  ; 

It  thundered  o'er  the  waves  of  Monterey, 
The  valley  of  Carmel. 


36  DEATH  OF  PADRE   SERRA. 

The  sailor,  in  his  vessel  on  the  bay, 

Bent  low  and  signed  the  cross  ; 
From  hut  and  hamlet  rose  the  wail  which  told 

How  bitter  was  the  loss ! 

Far  as  on  fleeing  winds  the  knell  was  borne, 

All  bade  their  labors  end, 
And  thronging  sought  the  Mission  walls  once  more 

To  gaze  upon  their  friend  ; 

To  gaze  upon  their  father  and  their  friend. 

Their  teacher  true  and  wise, 
Whose  loving  hand  had  guided  them  along 

The  pathway  to  the  skies. 

The  children  gathered,  from  the  shadowy  nooks, 

The  fragrant  wild-wood  flowers. 
Whose  blushing  beauty  filled  with  fairy  life 

The  lonely  forest  bowers  ; 

Sweet  flowers  that  treasured  in  their  painted  cells 

The  dew-drop's  pearly  tear — 
Meet  offering  for  these  simple,  trusting  hearts 

To  lay  upon  his  bier. 

Soldier  and  mariner  and  neophyte 

Thronged  through  the  Mission's  hall 

Till  twilight  over  all  the  golden  west  ' 

Her  purple  robes  let  fall. 

Then,  while  the  solemn  voice  of  chant  and  prayer 

Blent  with  the  ocean's  roar. 
In  sad  procession  to  the  lighted  church 

His  sainted  form  they  bore. 


DEATH  OF  PADRE   SERRA.  37 

And  there  they  laid  him  :  tapers  shone  around, 

Soldiers  kept  guard  beside, 
While  Mission  and  Presidio  ceaselessly 

Poured  in  their  living  tide. 

And  through  the  watches  of  that  summer  night, 

Upon  the  balmy  air 
Rose,  like  a  column  of  celestial  light. 

The  people's  fervent  prayer, 

As  round  about  the  holy  dead  they  pressed, 

Touching  his  robe,  his  hand, 
Calling  him  saint  and  father,  as  they  wept 

His  loss  unto  the  land  ; 

Their  wail — it  seems  to  linger  even  yet 

Upon  the  breezes'  swell. 
Sung  by  the  pines,  and  murmured  evermore 

Around  thy  shrine,  Carmel ! 

1871. 


THE   WOMEN  OF   THE  REVOLUTION. 


WHEN  our  nation  yields  her  homage 
To  her  heroes  true  and  bold, 
To  the  men  who  won  her  freedom,. 

Let  her  trace  in  shining  gold, 
Onjthe  column  she  has  lifted 

To  commemorate  their  fame, 
Names  of  mothers,  wives,  and  sisters 
Who  alike  our  reverence  claim. 

True,  they  went  not  forth  to  battle 

When  along  the  startled  air 
Beat  the  drum's  far-reaching  summons, 

Rang  the  bugle's  slirilly  blare; 
When  the  cannon's  tones  of  thunder 

Shook  the  listening  earth  around, 
And  the  crash  of  charging  squadrons 

Echoed  from  the  trembling  ground — 

Nay,  not  there  they  won  their  laurels, 

But  amid  a  sterner  strife  : 
In  the  constant  toil  and  trouble 

Of  the  daily  cares  of  life. 
Through  the  years  of  bitter  warfare 

When,  with  dauntless  heart  and  hand. 
Against  hordes  of  arm^d  foemen 

Our  forefathers  made  their  stand. 
38 


THE    WOMEN  OF   THE  REVOLUTION,       39 

As  we  turn  the  pages  telling 

The  sad  history  of  these  years, 
Can   we  fatliom  half  the  suffering, 

Half  the  heartache  and  the  fears. 
Of  that  band  of  valiant  women  ? 

Ah  !    we  ne'er  can  realize 
All  they  bore  with  martyr  firmness 

For  the  freedom   that  we  prize. 

When  the  call    "  To  Arms  "    resounded, 

Tearfully  but  bravely  they 
At  the  altar  of  their  country 

Their  most  cherished  gave  away  : 
Husband,  father,  son,  or  lover 

Hastened  forth  to  do  and  dare. 
Crowned  with  many  a  tender  blessing, 

Sped  by  many  a  fervent  prayer. 

All  whose  hands  could  wield  a  weapon 

Marched  to  join  the  Patriot  band  : 
Oh !    the  woe  and  desolation 

In  the  homes  of  our  young  land. 
But  the  mothers  of  our  nation 

Faltered  not,  though  hard  the  way, 
As  they  wrought  amid  their  households, 

Hopefully,  from  day  to  day  ; 

Seldom  resting  from  their  labors, 

In  the  field  or  at  the  loom, 
Planning,  caring,  working  ever, 

In  the  time  of  snow  or  bloom  ; 


40        THE    WOMEN  OF   THE  REVOLUTION. 

For  the  stores  thus  closely  garnered 
Must  be  shared  with  generous  hand  : 

Food  and  raiment  must  be  furnished 
For  the  soldiers  of  the  land. 


Could  they  dwell  content  and  happy 

When  from  many  an  icy  gorge 
Swept  the  winds  in  mad  derision 

Round  the  huts  of  Valley  Forge  ? 
When  they  thought  upon  their  dear  ones 

Bearing  hunger,   want,  and  cold. 
Language  fails  to  paint  the  anguish 

Of  their  agony  untold. 

We  who  shrink  from  thoughts  of  hardship. 

We  who  shudder  if  the  breeze 
Comes  to  us  at  moments  laden 

With  the  cool  breath  of  the  seas, 
We  whose  love  depicts  these  women. 

Dainty  ladies,  fair  and  grand, 
Robed  in   rich  and  quaint  attire, 

Jewels  upon  brow  and  hand. 

Queens  by  right  of  wealth  and  beauty — 

Lo  !    with  reverent  voice  we  pause 
To  thank  God,  who  gave  such  champions 

Unto  Freedom's  holy  cause, 
When  all  ranks,  as  one  united. 

Worked  against  the  common  foe, 
And  a  patriotic  fervor 

Fired  all  spirits  with  its  glow. 


THE    WOMEN  OF   THE  REVOLUTION.       4 1 

Far  and  wide  the  tide  of  battle 

Swept  with  its  destructive  force, 
Blotting  many  a  sunny  landscape 

With  fell  ruin  in  its  course ; 
And  though  thousands  sank  to  perish, 

Women,  faithful  at  their  post. 
Lifted  up  their  hands  to  Heaven, 

Pleading  for  the  Patriot  host. 

Oh  !    their  bosoms  proudly  kindled 

At  each  tale  of  victory  won, 
Though  perchance  their  joy  was  darkened 

By  the  loss  of  sire  or  son  ; 
Though,  to  many,  Peace  returning 

Her  clear  light  o'er  earth  to  shed, 
Would  behold  them  fondly  strewing 

Memory's  roses  o'er  their  dead. 

Yet  they  murmured  not,  repined  not. 

But  nursed  hope  when  hope  seemed  vain, 
Looking  up  to  Him  whose  power 

Could  alone  their  hearts  sustain 
Through  those  dreary  years  of  trial, 

Days  of  danger,  nights  of  gloom. 
Surely  light  from  Heaven  was  lent  them 

These  dark  moments  to  illume. 


Brave,  true-hearted,  noble  women  ! 

When  we  pledge  our  heroes  great. 
Warriors  famed  on  fields  of  battle, 

Helmsmen  of  the  ship  of  state, 


42        THE    WOMEN  OF   THE  REVOLUTION, 

'      First  upon  the  roll  of  honor 

We  will  place  your  cherished  name, 
Praying  that  our  Nation's  daughters 
May  prove  worthy  of  your  fame  ; 

That  the  trust  you  held  so  nobly, 

Love  of  God  and  Fatherland, 
May  for  ever  liglit  with  glory 

Every  household  of  our  land  ; 
And  your  virtues,  priceless  jewels, 

Our  best  heritage  shall  be, 
Mothers  of  a  glorious  Nation  ! 

Pride  and  glory  of  the  Free  ! 


MARCH, 


HARK!  to  that  trumpet  sounding  from  the  walls 
That  circle  the  great  palace  of  the  Year ; 
And  mark !  as  with  a  crash  the  drawbridge  falls, 
The  gallant  warrior,  March,  comes  riding  here — 

Brave,  princely  March,  the  New  Year's  haughtiest 
son. 

Though  doomed,  like  his  late  brothers,  soon  to  die; 
He  lifts  his  white  plume  proudly  to  the  sun. 

And  fills  with  shouts  of  triumph  earth  and  sky. 

The  laughing  brooklets  lift  their  voice  in  joy. 
The  wild-birds  carol  forth  a  paean  sweet, 

And  Nature  lays  her  gifts  which  never  cloy, 
Her  floral  incense,  at  the  conqueror's  feet. 

Fair  as  the  fairest  lily  gleams  his  brow. 

And,  as  the  spring's  first  roses  glow  his  cheeks, 

At  times  his  voice  is  tender,  soft,  and  low  ; 

But,  roused  to  wrath,  in  thunder-tones  he  speaks, 

And  waves  his  sword,  so  flashing,  cold,  and  keen — 
His  sword  wrought  by  an  artisan  of  old 

In  the  far  North,  its  diamond  hill's  bright  sheen 
Torn  from  the  treasures  of  the  Ice-King  bold. 

43 


44  MARCH, 


How  shines  his  shield,  rich  with  the  armorer's  art, 
With  rarest  emeralds  set  in  blazing  gold  ! 

Wliile,  draped  with  careless  grace  across  his  heart, 
A  flower-wreathed  mantle  falls  in  many  a  fold. 

On  the  tall  mountains,  'mid  the  forest  glades, 
By  winding  river  and  by  murmuring  sea, 

Each  morn  will  gleam  his  trusty  followers*  blades, 
And  his  white  banners  flutter  fair  and  free. 

On,  March  !  glad  March  !  thou  warrior  of  the  Year  ; 

On  with  thy  martial  strains,  thy  ringing  mirth  ! 
And  Viva !  viva  !  hark  the  sounding  cheer 

That  thunders  upward  from  the  awakening  earth. 


APRIL  AND  MA  K 


THE  fairest  daughter  of  the  year, 
The  beautiful,  the  bright, 
Sweet  April,  with  her  sunny  smiles 
And  eyes   of  laughing  light — 

Sweet  April,  queen  of  birds  and  flowers, 

Has  passed  from  earth  away. 
And  left  her  wealth  of  fields  and  bowers 

To  her  fair  sister  May. 

She  came  to  us  when  storm-torn  scenes 
Marked  where  proud  March  had  trod ; 

The  wild-birds  circling  round  her  sang, 
The  flowers  smiled  from  the  sod. 

The  leaves  from  out  their  sheltering  buds 
Burst  forth  to  greet  their  queen. 

And  woo  her  steps  to  tarry  long 
In  each  glad  sylvan  scene. 

The  lilies,  emblems  of  the  soul 

That  knows  no  stain  of  sin, 
Flung  open  wide  their  golden  hearts. 

That  she  might  gaze  within. 

The  roses,  parting  ruby  lips, 

Poured  forth  their  tales  of  love  ; 

And  through  the  gloaming,  in  the  wood, 
Was  heard  the  plaintive  dove. 

45 


46  APRIL  AND  MAY. 

In  dimpling  waves  of  grass  and  flowers 
We  knew  her  mantle's  fold  ; 

The  goldfinch  and  the  oriole  lit 
Her  groves  like  lamps  of  gold. 

And  in  the  murmurings  of  tiie  leaves, 
The  brooklet's  babbling  voice, 

And  whispering  of  the  balmy  breeze, 
She  bade  the  earth  rejoice. 

But  she  is  dead.     And  yet  no  voice 
Is  hushed  o'er  her  to  grieve. 

No  wailings  thrill  the  fragrant  bowers 
Which  slie  was  forced  to  leave. 

For  o'er  the  hills  in  beauty  clad, 
And  through  the  smiling  plain, 

With  ringing  glee  and  melody 
Comes  May's  exulting  train. 

She  treads  the  scenes  her  sister  trod, 
'Mid  bird-notes  warbled   clear ; 

The  welcomes  from  uncounted  hearts 
Are  sounding  in  her  ear, 

The   while   with   reverent  hand   she  culls 
The   flowers  from   hill  and   wold, 

And  breaks   upon   fair   April's   tomb 
Her  cup  and   wand   of  gold. 

A  denser  shadow  clothes  the   woods, 

But   threads   of  silver   run 
No   more   amid   the   emerald  robes 

By  April's  fingers   spun. 


APRIL  AND  MAY.  47 

And   April's  grass   and   April's   flowers 

In  whitening  swaths  are  rolled, 
While   May   is  flinging  o'er  the  hills 

Her  ajnber  and  her  gold. 

Oh  !   she  is  fair  and  young  and  bright, 

But   she   will   bear  away 
From  earth  the  wealth   her  sister  gave 

To  beautify  her  sway. 

Already  on  her  snowy  brow 

Mark  how  the  blossoms  pale  ; 
The  fragrance  of  her  balmy  breath 

Scarce   trembles  on   the  gale. 

And  soon,  alas !   amid  the  groves 

The  birds  will  warble  clear 
A  requiem  o'er  those  sisters  fair, 

Those  darlings  of  the  year. 


THE  BRIDAL. 


SWEET  perfumes  from  the  hearts  of  flowers 
Throb  out  upon  the  summer  air, 
And  heavenward  soar,  commingling  with 
The  incense  of  the  voice  of  prayer. 

For  through  the  heavy,  odorous  calm 
The  tapers  gleam  upon  the  slirine. 

And  angel-hosts  bend  low  to  view 
The  mystery  of  Love  Divine, 

Bearing  rich  blessings  from  on  high 
With  which  to  crown  the  youthful  pair 

Who  in  His  presence  vow  to-day 

Their  mutual  path  througli  life  to  share  ; 

To  crown  the  fair  young  bride,  who  stands 
With  downcast  eye  and  blushing  cheek, 

With  all  of  love  and  hope  and  bliss 
The  human  heart  on  earth  can  seek. 

For  she  is  passing  from  the  path 

Her  girlish  feet  in  glee  hath  pressed, 

And  childish  joys  and  childish  aims 
No  longer  reign   within  her  breast. 

But  in  the  Future's  valleys  wait 

With  welcoming  smiles  the  angels  good, 

Whose  care  shall  lead  her  day  by  day 
To  pure  and  perfect  womanhood. 
48 


THE  BRIDAL. 


49 


For  her  may  come  no  hours  of  grief,    , 

No  dreary  shadow  mar  her  life, 
Blest  in  her  noble  husband's  love, 

Thrice  happy  as  his  honored  vvife. 

So  now  within  her  childhood's  home. 

With  him  whose  love  her  heart  hath  won, 

She  answers  to  the  solemn  words 

Which  blend  their  lives  and  souls  in  one. 

The  rite  is  o'er  ;  loved  ones  throng  round  ; 

Fond  words  for  future  weal  are  said. 
While  from  the  pictured  walls  look  down 

The  faces  of  the  cherished  dead,      .{ 

As  though  in  their  mute  smile  they  gave 

The  blessings  which  their  lips  would  frame — 

The  blessings  which  a  hundred  hearts 

Twine  round  the  bride  and  bridegroom's  name, 

As  forth  amid  their  friends  they  move. 
While  praise  in  lavish  strain  is  poured, 

And  lead  the  way  wliere  viands  fair 
Weigh  down  the  groaning  festal  board. 

Fast  flows  the  bowl  by  pleasure  crowned. 
The  toast  and  jest  go  circling  by, 

And  music  lends  its  spell  of  power 
In  chorus  swelling  deep  and  high. 

Forth  from  the  feast  once  more  they  pass, 

To  linger  in  the  colonnades. 
Or  wander  where  the  wild-bird's  notes 

Make  glad  the  forest's  opening  glades; 


50  THE  BRIDAL. 


Or  listen  to  some  voice  of  song 

Whose  clear  notes  mock  the  lark's  sweet  glee, 
Or  murmur  o'er  a  lover's  vows 

Where  whispering  winds  breathe  low  and  free  ; 

Till  on  the  evening's  fragrant  breeze 
Tlie  swelling  music  wooes  once  more 

The  wanderers  to  the  banquet-hall, 

And  bids  them  tread  the  dancing-floor. 

Still  as  the  white-winged  hours  speed  by, 
And  star-lamps  light  the  fields  of  blue, 

Fond  wishes  for  the  happy  pair 
Once  and  again  all  hearts  renew. 

God  bless  them  in  their  mutual  love  ! 

God  grant  them  hope  !   God  grant  them  bliss. 
The  foretaste  of  eternal  joys 

Which  crown  a  better  world  than  this  ! 


And  may  their  bridal  day  be  still 
An  omen  of  their  future  way, 

As  happy  in  its  speeding  hours. 
As  cloudless  in  its  sunny  ray  ! 


EVENING  AT  NOTRE  DAME. 


ANOTHER  day  has  written  out  its  record 
Of  good  and  ill  upon  the  book  of  life, 
And  evening's  pitying  angel  shuts  the  volume 
Upon  the  story  of  earth's  toil  and  strife: 

Another  day — a  day  of  summer  beauty — 

Laid  with  its  kindred  in  their  dreamless  rest, 

Where  amethystine  lines  with  amber  blending 

Bound  the  bright  realms  of  cloudland  on  the  west. 

Above  the  mountains,  robed  in  twilight's  purple, 
The  stars  come  forth  in  beauty  one  by  one, 

Glorious  as  spirits  of  earth's  sainted  martyrs. 
Bright  as  the  fadeless  splendor  they  have  won. 

Beyond  the  convent's  fragrance-breathing  garden, 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  its  quiet  wall. 
The  tides  of  life,  like  summer  ocean's  breaking 

On  shell-strewn  beaches,  softly  rise  and  fall. 

Mellowed  by  distance  comes  the  dying  murmur 

Of  noisy  bustle  from  the  busy  mart  ; 
But  here  is  peace — God's  peace,  deep  and  eternal, 

In  this  his  chamber  of  tlie  city's  heart. 

Yes,  here  is  peace — such  peace  as  floods  the  spirit 
When  morning  sets  day's  golden  gates  ajar, 

And  grateful  earth  looks  up  from  dews  refreshing, 
And  earliest  bird-notes  hail  the  morning  star; 
51 


52  EVENING  AT  NOTRE  DAME. 

Peace  on  each  face  and  in  each  throbbing  bosom, 
As,  gathering  now  in  the  soft  twilight  haze 

Around  Our  Lady's  shrine,  with  hearts  uplifted. 
Sweet  voices  carol  a  glad  hymn  of  praise ; 

And,  blending  with  the  anthem  to  our  Mother, 
Our  pleading  wish  for  blessings  bright  and  fair 

On  those  whose  love  has  wooed  our  wandering  spirits 
Back  to  this  tender  atmosphere  of  prayer  ; 

Has  won  us  back  unto  the  convent's  shelter. 
Eager  as  children  wearied  wandering  far, 

To  lay  awhile  before  the  pitying  Saviour 

Our  portion  of  earth's  turmoil,  strife,  and  jar  ; 

To  quaff  from  founts  of  heavenly  consolation 
Strength  for  the  present,  healing  for  the  past. 

And  grace  to  walk  in  firmest  faitli  unflinching- 
Where'er  the  future  of  our  lives  be  cast. 

*Tis  silence  now  ;   the  last  faint,  silvery  echo 
Of  song,  dies  out  upon  the  calm  of  night, 

But  the  bright  stars,  in  soft  midsummer  glory, 
Are  eloquent  of  lands  of  heavenly  light. 

San  Josfe,  July  i,  1870. 


SUNSET  BESIDE  THE  SEA. 


THE  autumn's  banner  floated  o'er  the  hills 
Beside  the  sounding  sea, 
Where  up  the  hollow  courses  of  the  streams 

It  sent  its  summons  free, 
Claiming  the  tribute  from  the  fertile  land 

Its  waves  had  drawn  for  years, 
The  crystal  waters  from  the  hidden  caves 
Where  fall  the  wood-nymph's  tears ; 

Wooing  with  sighs  their  laggard  steps  to  leave 

The  shadows  cool  and  green, 
Where  laughing  Spring  and  smiling  Summer  wrought 

To  weave  a  leafy  screen. 
And  forth  they  came  at  evening's  quiet  hour, 

Answering  the  ocean's  call, 
While  all  around  the  sunset's  signal-fires 

Burned  on  the  mountains'  wall. 

And  westward,  lo  !  in  answering  colors  bright, 

Borne  landward  by  the  swell, 
The  golden  garments  of  the  god  of  light 

Drift  rose-wreathed  where  they  fell, 
Forming  a  chain  of  splendor  all  along 

The  wide,  far-reaching  west, 
Seeming  to  mortal  eyes  as  if  they  veiled 

The  Islands  of  the  Blest. 

Gazing  I  mused :  "  Oh  !  if  such  glory  shone 

When  first  the  freshening  gale 
Blew  aromatic  fragrance  from  these  shores 

To  fill  Cabrillo's  sail  ; 

53 


54  SUNSET  BESIDE    THE   SEA. 

Or  when  Viscayno  with  his  valiant  men 

Sailed  northward  o'er  the  main, 
And  to  the  wondering  natives  of  this  land 

Displayed  the  flag  of  Spain, 

"  As  from  afar  with  awe-struck  eyes  they  gazed, 

And  saw  him  kneel  to  pray 
Where  'neath  the  spreading  oak  the  Mass  was  said 

At  storied  Monterey — 
What  wonder,  then,  Hispania's  gallant  sons 

Deemed  that  unto  their  sight 
Opened  a  land  whose  riches  manifold 

Would  rival  Ophir's  light  ? — 

"A  land  whose  praises  to  his  sovereign  king 

Viscayno's  letters  bore  : 
Praise  of  its  forests  dense,  its  mountains  grand, 

Its  fair  and  tranquil  shore." 
But  while  I  mused  a  sudden  blaze  of  light 

Shot  o'er  the  ocean's  breast, 
Marking  with  crimson  where  October's  sun 

Had  slowly  sunk  to  rest. 

High  flamed  the  clouds,  as  though  the  pirate  Drake 

Had  started  from  his  grave, 
And  with  the  glow  of  burning  galleons  lit 

The  broad  Pacific's  wave ; 
Till  Twilight  in  her  matchless  beauty  came 

With  eyes  of  starry  ray, 
And  tenderly  her  treasured  violets  flung 

Upon  tlie  grave  of  Day. 

October,  1874. 


A  FLOWER  IN  WINTER, 


HOPE    IN    WOE. 


A  WEEPING  mother  came  to  kneel 
Beside  her  first-born's  tomb. 
'Twas  when  the  dreary  winter  hours 

Had  veiled  the  earth  with  gloom : 
The  fields  around  were  waste  and  wild, 

No  sunbeams  lit  the  land, 
And  far  away,  with  sullen  din, 

The  breakers  shook  the  strand. 
She  knelt  beside  her  darling's  grave, 

And  bitter  tears  ftll  fast. 
As,  rushing  o'er  her  spirit,  came 

Fond  memories  of  the  past — 
Fond  memories  of  the  far-off  days 

That  all  unclouded  flew. 
Each  blended  with  some  thought  of  him, 

Her  son  so  good,  so  true. 
Though  other  children  claimed  her  love 

And  in  her  home  had  part. 
None,  none  could  fill  the  first-born's  place 

Within  the  mother's  heart. 
And — bitter  woe  to  her — he  died 

Far,  far  from  home's  bright  charms  ; 
Not  hers  to  soothe  his  parting  hours, 

Enfolded  in  her  arms. 

3*  55 


56  A   FLOWER  IN   WINTER. 

He  left  her  when  the  spring-day  light 

Shone  fair  o'er  vale  and  hill, 
And,  ere  a  single  blossom  died, 

They  brought  iiim,  cold  and  still, 
Shrouded  and  coffined  for  the  grave, 

His  fair  face  maimed  and  torn  : 
The  memory  of  that  awful  hour 

Her  soul  for  years  had  borne. 

Now,  while  with  trembling  lips  she  poured 

To  God  her  earnest  prayer 
For  strength  through  all  life's  coming  days 

Her  heavy  cross  to  bear. 
She  marked,  amid  the  summer's  wreck 

That  strewed  her  darling's  tomb, 
A  radiant,  golden-tinted  flower 

That  smiled  in  fullest  bloom — 
A  blossom  from  Spring's  floral  crown, 

Un marred  by  wind  or  frost, 
As  fair  as  when  the  zephyrs  bland 

Its  shining  petals  tossed. 
It  seemed  an  emblem  of  the  life 

Of  him  who  slept  below; 
Bright  as  his  memory  in  her  heart 

It  bloomed  'mid  winter's  woe. 
And  cheered  her  with  the  soothing  power 

That  sorrow's  wounds  can  heal, 
As  pierced  into  her  inmost  soul 

That  wild-flower's  mute  appeal: 
"The  God  who  through  the  wintry  hours 

Protects  my  fragile  head. 
And  bids  me  keep,  through  sun  and  showers, 

My  watch  above  the  dead. 


A   FLOWER  IN    WINTER.  57 

Forgets  not  faithful  hearts  that  turn 

To  him  in 'trust  and  love  : 
He  leads  them  through  the  shadowy  vale 

To  his  bright  home  above  ; 
He  sends  his  angel-hosts  to  guard 

And  guide  our  steps  the  while  : 
Each  cloud  of  sorrow  only  veils 

The  glory  of  his  smile." 


BIRD-SONG  A  T  MIDNIGHT, 


THE  summer's  dreamy  beauty* 
Lay  over  all  the  west, 
And  night  into  completeness 
Rounded  the  Sabbath's  rest, 

When  o'er  the  slumbering  valley, 
The  last  sweet  hours  of  May, 

I  watclied  the  bright  moon  gliding 
Calmly  upon  her  way. 

Far  off  the  noisy  murmurs 

Of  life  had  sunk  and  died, 
As  when  from  sounding  beaches 

Rolls  back  tlie  ebbing  tide. 

The  leafy  trees  above  me 

Moved  to  no  zephyr's  sigh  ; 
Peace  on  the  earth  around  me, 

Peace  in  the  cloudless  sky. 

The  perfume  of  the  roses 
And  woodbine  filled  the  air  ; 

The  great,  warm  heart  of  Nature 
Grew  eloquent  of  prayer. 

It  seemed  an  hour  when  only 

Sweet  thoughts  of  Heaven  could  ..thrill, 
When  at  the  fount  of  mercy 

The  heart  might  quaff  its  fill  ; 
58 


BIRD- SONG  AT  MIDNIGHT.  59 

An  hour  when  earth  was  yielding 

Its  homage,  fresh  and  free, 
In  loveliness  and  fragrance, 

Father  of  light!  to  thee. 

When,  lo  !  the  breathless  silence 

A  strain  harmonious  stirred. 
And  through  the  air  went  floating 

The  sweet  song  of  a  bird ; 

As  though  the  music  dwelling 
Within  the  lark's  meek  breast. 

Amid  such  tranquil  beauty 
Had  burst  the  bonds  of  rest. 

And  from  its  heart  o'erflowing 

The  melody  outrang; 
In  accents  clear  and  joyous 

The  midnight  warbler  sang. 

Glory  and  love  and  worship 

Seemed  blended  in  each  tone — 

Glory  and  love  and  worship 
To  God,  and  God  alone. 

And  ere  the  last  note  trembled 
Its  mate  caught  up  the  strain, 

And  in  the  night's  deep  silence 
Sang  once,  and  yet  again. 

While  faintly  sweet  the  echoes 
Would  fain  each  note  prolong, 

May's  latest  hour  of  beauty 
Went  out  in  light  and  song. 


GERTIE, 


A  LITTLE  fay  wliose  golden  tresses  twine 
In  clustering  rings  above  her  forehead  white, 
O'ershadowing  eyes  whose  dark  and  lustrous  cells 

Imprison  rays  of  soft  and  tender  light  ; 
Round  cheeks  on  which  the  rose's  tint  is  laid, 
And  rosebud  lips  for  kisses  only  made  ; 

Wee  hands  tliat  cling  in  fond  and  close  embrace, 
And  baby-tones  whose  gentle  accents  fill 

Her  happy  home  with  music,  baby-words 
Whose  echoes  linger  in  my  memory  still, 

As  oft  I  muse  upon  the  smiling  grace 

And  perfect  beauty  of  her  winsome  face. 

Close  sheltered  in  the  arms  of  truest  love. 
Knowing  no  shadow  on  her  sunny  way, 

She  seems  an  angel  lent  u§  from  above, 
A  sunbeam  sent  to  brighten  with  its  ray 

The  flowers  of  love,  buds  of  celestial  birth, 

Whose  beauty  cheers  the  pilgrim  upon  earth. 

Dear  Baby  Gertie  !     May  the  angels  keep 
All  tears  of  sorrow  from  her  loving  eyes. 

And  bright  the  clear,  unclouded  sunlight  sweep 
Across  her  path  from  Joy's  soft  summer  skies, 

Till  the  sweet  promise  of  her  youth  shall  be 

Blessed  and  perfected,  O  my  God,  by  thee  ! 
60 


EASTER  BELLS. 


OVER  the  breast  of  the  budding  earth, 
The  verdant  meadows  aglow  with  bloom, 
Over  the  woodlands  whose  waving  boughs 
Are  casting  shadows  of  vernal  gloom, 

Ring  out  sweet  bells  with  a  joyous  chime, 
Hailing  the  dawn  of  the  Easter  time! 

Waken  the  echoes  slumbering  far 
In  rock-ribbed  glens  of  the  mighty  hills, 
Till  the  laugliing  streamlets  dance  with  joy 
At  the  musical  call  of  their  vibrant  thrills  ; 
Breathe  to  the  hurrying  wind  and  wave 
That  Love  has  triumphed  over  the  grave ! 

Echo  the  songs  that  the  angels  sing 

In  the  shining  courts  of  Heaven  to-day, 

The  alleluias  glad  that  ring, 

The  hymn  of  praise,  the  glorious  lay 

That  tells  to  the  world  its  woes  have  fled, 
For  its  Saviour  has  risen  from  the  dead. 

Kindle  the  sunshine  of  hope  and  love 
That  lurks  in  the  depths  of  the  human  breast 
Bid  the  pilgrim  turn  to  his  home  above. 
The  only  haven  of  peace  and  rest, 

Purchased  for  him  by  the  Precious  Blood 
Shed  for  man  on  the  Holy  Rood. 

6i 


62  '  EASTER  BELLS. 


O  bells,  sweet  bells  !  again,  again 
Fling  your  musical  message  across  the  land, 
Till  its  people's  voices  from  mount  and  glen 
Soar  up  to  Heaven  in  chorus  grand, 

While  the  tidings  of  joy  o'er  earth  are  spread 
"  Lo  !  Christ  is  risen  from  the  dead." 


A   MAGNOLIA   BLOSSOM. 


A  FAIR  white  bloom  from  convent  garden  brought. 
Fragrant  and  dewy  in  its  perfect  glow, 
Pure  as  some  Alpine  peak's  untrodden  snow, 
Or  beauty  of  a  child's  unsullied  thought, 
Is  this  rare  gem  by  God's  own  fingers  wrought. 
'Mid  scenes  of  peace  and  love  its  chalice  bright 
Uplifted  basked  within  the  sun's  warm  light, 
Till  every  petal  glowed,  with  splendor  fraught. 
O  sweet,  symbolic  flower  !  thy  words  of  cheer 
An  angel-whisper  speaketh  to  the  heart 
When,  fainting  'neath  the  burdens  of  each  day, 
Gloomy  despair  contending  for  the  sway, 
We  hear  thee  softly  murmur  :  **  Persevere  ! 
He  wins  the  crown  who  nobly  does  his  part." 
63 


DANIEL  aCONNELL. 


0  MOTHER  of  saints  and  heroes  ! 
Arise  in  thy  grace  to-day, 
And  speak  to  the  hearts  of  thy  children 
Wherever  their  footsteps  stray. 

Oh  !  speak  with  a  mother's  fervor 
Who  tells  of  the  great  deeds  done, 

For  the  sake  of  her  love  and  honor, 
By  a  true  and  dauntless  son, 

Till  their  patriot  souls  shall  kindle 
With  many  an  answering  thrill, 

As  memory  calls  up  the  accents 
That  thundered  from  Tara's  hill  : 

The  voice  that  over  the  Curragh 
Swept  clear  as  a  trumpet-blast. 

And  fired  the  hearts  of  the  people 
At  the  Rath  of  MuUaghmast — 

The  voice  of  the  Liberator, 

Sounding  sweet  as  silvery  chimes, 

Dispelling  the  gloom  and  the  darkness 
And  horror  of  penal  times. 

His  eloquence  won  for  thee,  Erin, 
That  thy  valiant  sons  might  stand 

In  the  light  of  the  Faith  of  their  fathers 
Once  more  in  their  native  land. 

64 


DANIEL   O'CONNELL.  65 

Oh !  great  was  the  burdening  anguish, 

Most  cruel  the  thorny  crown, 
And  galling  and  heavy  the  fetters 

With  whicli  tyrants  weighed   thee  down. 

They  martyred  thy  priests  and  bishops, 

Laid  altar  and  abbey  low, 
And  thy  children's  pastors  and  teachers 

Were  marked  as  a  common  foe. 

The  sword  of  the  persecutor 

Still  dripped  in  his  bloody  hand 

When  O'Connell  was  sent  unto  thee 
To  comfort  his  fallen  land. 

Oh!  never  before — nay,  never — 

Was  such  glorious  victory  won, 
Without  ruin  and  battle  carnage, 

As  that  which  crowned  thy  son 

When  v/ith  words  of  such  burning  power — 

Words  echoing  far  and  wide — 
He  roused  in  the  hearts  of  his  people 

Their  national  love  and  pride  ; 

When,  not  as  a  pleading  nation. 

But  as  strong  men  demand  their  own, 

He  taught  them  to  claim  their  freedom 
And  rights  from  the  British  throne. 

What  blessings  of  untold  merit 

He  labored  to  win  for  thee — 
For  thee  and  thy  exiled  children 

Afar  by  each  distant  sea! 


66  DANIEL   O' CON  NELL. 

For  wherever  the  flag  of  England 
Had  marked  the  earth  for  its  own, 

Lo  !  there  was  Emancipation 

To  the  sons  of  the  true  Faith  known. 

He  stood  to  the  last  unflinching 
And  firm  in  thy  cherished  cause, 

And  laid  at  thy  feet,  O  Mother, 
The  corpse  of  the  penal  laws  ! 

For  this  do  thy  children  owe  him 
Love  fervent  and  strong  and  deep  ; 

For  this  in  our  hearts'  recesses 
Most  sacred  his  name  we  keep. 

And  over  the  earth's  expanses. 
Wherever  thy  children  stray, 

Their  voices  are  raised  to  honor 
O'Connell's  natal  day. 

For  now,  in  the  light  of  the  freedom 
His  thrilling  eloquence  won, 

We  know,  O  Mother  of  heroes! 
The  worth  of  thy  noble  son. 

And  while  others  fresh  wreaths  of  laurel 

For  his  mausoleum  twine. 
Take  thou  from  the  golden  westland 

This  spray  of  moss  for  his  shrine. 

August,  1875. 


A  MESSAGE  FROM  HOME. 


OH !  the  human  heart  turns  backward,  with  a  long- 
ing deep  and  tender, 
As  the  evening  shadows  gather  closer,  closer  round 
life's  way, 
Longing  for  the   scenes   of  childhood  which  beheld 
youth's  sunny  glory, 
As  the  cross  of  years  and  suffering  groweth  heavier 
day  by  day. 

Little  marvel,  then,  that,  standing  in  the  softened  sun- 
set splendors 
Of  a  life  whose  fleeting  moments,  on  their  heaven- 
ward journey,  told 
That  the  diamond  milestone  marking  her  last  quarter- 
century's  dawning 
Had   been    passed   with   buoyant    spirit  and   with 
courage  true  and  bold — 

Little  marvel  that  her  fancy,  turning  from  the  present, 
lingered 
On  the  scenes  round   Newtownbarry,   on  her  old 
home  o'er  the  sea, 
Picturing  oft,  in  loving  language,  joys  that  'neath  its 
roof-tree  blessed  her 
In  the  merry,  merry  hours  of  her  girlhood's  cloud- 
less glee. 

67 


68  A   MESSAGE  FROM  HOME. 

Fourscore  years  had  sown  their  tear-drops  and  their 
smiles  around  lier  pathway; 
Love  and  pleasure,  death  and  grieving,  flung  their 
largesse  o'er  her  life  ; 
Pain   and   suffering  held   and  bound   her   with  their 
keenest  pangs  of  anguish, 
When  Death's  angel  came  to  call  her  from  earth's 
haunts  with  trouble  rife. 

And  across  the  sounding  ocean  came  a  loving  mes- 
sage speeding, 
Bearing  to  her  sweetest  greeting  witli   a  shamrock 
green  and  bright — 
A  shamrock  that  was  nurtured  by  the  suns  and  dews 
of  Erin 
On  the  soil  of  Newtownbarry,  where  her  eyes  first 
saw  the  light  ; 

The  shamrock,  precious  ever  to  the  exiled  child  of 
Ireland, 
Sacred  since  Saint  Patrick  blessed  it  with  the  touch 
of  his  right  hand 
When  he  taught  the  wondrous  mystery  of  the  Trinity, 
revealing 
Its  meaning  to  the  people  by  this  floweret  of  the  land. 

Gentle  hands  received  the  token,  tear-dimmed  eyes 
gazed  on  it  fondly. 
Tremblingly  low   accents    murmured  :    "  She   who 
would  have  loved  it  best, 
In  the  true  home  of  the  spirit,  where  tiie  pure  of  soul 
dwell  ever 
In  the  splendor  of  the  Trinity,  has  found  her  long- 
ed-for rest." 


A   MESSAGE  FROM  HOME.  69 

Oh !  the  heart  so  true  and  faithful  never  more  would 
thrill  with  rapture, 
And  the  sealed  lids  open  never,  though  the  sham- 
rock was  so  near ; 
For  it  found  lier  lying  calmly  in  death's  stern  and 
awful  beauty, 
With  her  nearest  and  her  dearest  weeping  by  her 
silent  bier. 

Sweet  home-token  !   tender  message  !    blending  with 
the  solemn  summons 
Which   had   called    her  where    Faith    merges  into 
everlasting  love, 
And  in  Heaven's  perpetual  summer  the  redeemed,  in 
joy  celestial. 
Join  the  angels'  song  of  worship    sounding*  ever- 
more above. 


HARVEST  HOME, 


NOT  when  October  'neath  the  red  leaves  lieth, 
And  cliill  November  bids  the  wild  winds  roam, 
But  in  the  fullest  flusli  of  summer  glory, 
We  sing  our  Harvest  Home. 

September  smiles  on  fields  o'er  which  the  sickle 

Has  sped  its  glittering  course  ; 
On  white  straw  billows  flung  in  mad  upheaval 

Before  the  threshers'  force  ; 

Upon  broad  vineyards  where  the  purpling  clusters 

Drag  down  the  weighted  vine; 
On  orchards  where,  in  gold  and  ruby  blending, 

The  fragrant  apples  shine, 

While  vale  and  hill  vibrate  with  ceaseless  echo 

As  freighted  cars  speed  past, 
Bearing  to  distant  lands  the  harvest  garnered 

From  seed  the  sowers  cast. 

For  this,  in  many  a  hymn  of  adoration 

And  thanks  to  God  above, 
Soars  upward  like  a  cloud  of  fragrant  incense 

Our  people's  grateful  love. 

For  peace  in  California's  golden  border. 

For  plenty  in  her  fields, 
For  all  the  mercies  of  his  hand  which  ever 

Her  wayward  children  shields; 


HARVEST  HOME.  *]\ 

For  all  the  good  gifts  sent  so  freely  to  us, 

By  joyous  heart  and  tongue 
Most  gratefully  unto  the  bounteous  Giver 

Our  Harvest  Home  is  sung. 

September,  1880. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SPRING. 


FRESH  from  the  balmy  air  of  upland  meads, 
Beside    tlie    spring   we    checked    our    panting 
steeds — 
Beside  the  spring,  a  crystal  jewel  pressed 
Upon  the  green  folds  o'er  the  mountain's  breast, 
Where,  with  tall  branches  lifted  to  the  skies, 
Prone  on  the  earth  a  giant  oak-tree  lies; 
But  generous  Nature  still  its  life  maintains, 
And  pours  the  quickening  sap  through  all  its  veins, 
Bidding  it  from  its  summer  foliage  fling 
A  wealth  of  shadow  o'er  the  lonely  spring, 
To  shade  its  waters  from  the  noontide  heat 
And  bless  the  wanderer  to  this  calm  retreat. 

A  quiet  spot,  but  oh  I  how  bright  and  fair  : 

The  mountains  rising  through  the  sunlit  air, 

The  clustering  trees  beside  the  winding  stream. 

Where  the  first  blossoms  of  the  spring-time  gleam 

Amid  the  waving  grasses  tliere  that  cling. 

Where  the  blithe  robin  plumes  his  glossy  wing. 

And  the  light-footed  zephyrs  speeding  by 

Leave  not  this  solitude  without  a  sigh  ; 

For  'tis  a  spot  in  which  to  linger  long. 

Cheered  by  the  music  of  the  wild-birds'  song, 

And  joying  in  the  beauties  which  the  hand 

Of  the  great  Master  scatters  o'er  tlie  land,  'j 
72 


THE  MOUNTAIN  SPRING. 


73 


Lo  !  from  the  rugged  headlands  rising  round, 

The  eye  may  trace  the  valley's  widest  bound, 

And  see  afar  within  the  distant  west 

The  opposing  mountain  lift  its  plumed  crest, 

And  proud  El  Toro  midway  to  the  skies ; 

Or  northward  where  the  low  Laguna  lies, 

And  the  Coyote  in  some  long-past  day 

Cut  through  the  hills  a  pathway  to  the  bay; 

Or  southward  mark,  within  the  sun's  warm  fires, 

Lifted  in  air  the  city's  soaring  spires, 

And  by  the  white-armed  plane-trees,  gaunt  and  gray, 

Trace  through  the  vale  the  Llaga's  winding  way. 

Where  in  the  May  time,  bright  with  birds  and  flowers. 

We    trod    with    rose-crowned    Pleasure    through    her 

bowers, 
While  far  below  us  wave  in  emerald  sheen 
The  fields  and  forests  fair  of  San  Martin. 
But  ere  the  shadows  of  the  evening  fell 
We  bade  the  cool  spring  of  the  mount  farewell. 
And,  through  the  wondrous  beauty  of  the  day, 
Across  the  valley  sped  our  homeward  way; 
But  tender  memories  of  that  scene  will  bring, 
'Mid  winter  frosts,  foreshadowings  of  the  spring. 


BRIDAL   WISHES. 


A  SINGER  in  the  olden  time 
Sang  sweetly,  "  Love  is  lord  of  all." 
And  still  men  own  Love's  power  sublime 

In  cottage  or  in  palace  hall. 
His  smile  illumes  earth's  wildest  scene  ; 

He  mounts  the  very  throne  of  kings, 
And  round  the  warrior's  valiant  heart 

He  dares  to  fold  his  shining  wings. 
Love  !  dearest  of  the  poet's  themes, 

The  wandering  troubadour's  gay  song, 
The  minstrel's  fairest,  brightest  dreams. 

To  thee,  and  thee  alone,  belong. 

Glad  ruler  of  the  realms  of  youth, 

Of  hearts  whose  hours  are  always  May, 
Of  spirits  whose  sweet  bond  of  truth 

Was  knit  beneath  thy  gentle  sway, 
Thy  flame,  which  sheds  such  fervid  light 

When  wooers  strike  the  tuneful  lyre, 
Burns  not  in  wedded  bliss  less  bright, 

But  shines  with  calmer,  holier  fire — 
The  tender  glow,  the  lambent  beam, 

That  haloes  these  blest  hours  of  life. 
And  bids  a  heaven-sent  glory  stream 

Around  the  husband  and  the  wife. 


BRIDAL   WISHES.  75 

Such   glory  may.  your  future  fill, 

With  purest  joys,  O  Cousins  mine  ! 
And  balm  and  fragrance  sweet  distill 

Around  your  sacred  household  shrine, 
As  o'er  life's  fair  and  pleasant  way 

Onward  and  upward  still  you  move, 
Companioned  through  youth's  sunny  day 

By  the  dear  angels  Hope  and  Love. 
Be  yours  the  strong  and  perfect  faith 

That  time  and  care  alike  survives, 
And,  victors  o'er  grief's  shadowy  wraith, 

Dwell  wedded  lovers  all  your  lives. 


COLUMBIA. 


MOTHER  of  heroes  !  on  thy  noble  brow 
Another  year  has  set 
Its  seal  o£  promise,  and  our  liearts  rejoice 
To  find  thee  glorious  yet. 

Ay  !  fair  as  when  our  great  forefathers  hailed 

Thy  birth  with  glad  accord, 
And,  freely  as  wine  floweth  at  a  feast, 

Their  blood  to  guard  thee  poured ; 

When  through  the  din  and  smoke  of  battle-storms 

They  bore  thy  colors  on. 
And  foremost  on  thy  roll  of  honor  graved 

The  name  of  Washington — 

The  name  thy  sons  by  every  sea  and  shore 

In  reverent  honor  shrine, 
Which  even  lisping  childhood  learns  to  name 

As  synonym  of  thine  ; 

First  of  thy  warriors,  an  illustrious  band, 

Whose  names  shall  honored  be 
Where'er  thy  sway  extends,  where'er  are  heard 

Tiie  anthems  of  the  free. 

Through  all  the  length  and  breadth  of  thy  domain, 

Columbia  !  peerless  queen  ! 
From  where  the  Orient  laughs  in  morning  light 

To  the  West,'s  sunset  sheen. 
76 


COLUMBIA.  J  J 


For  State  by  State  unto  thy  banner  drew 

The  sons  of  every  zone, 
And  brightest  jewel  of  thy  starry  crown 

Was  given  our  land,  our  own  ! — 

Fair  California,  throned  beside  the  sea 

In  regal  beauty  grand, 
Flinging  abroad  her  glittering  treasure-stores 

With  a  most  generous  hand. 

Fairest  of  all  the  daughters  of  thy  house, 

And  true  as  she  is  fair, 
Lo  !  how  her  sons  assemble  at  her  call, 

Thy  glorious  feast  to  share. 

They  come  with  banners  dancing  on  the  breeze, 

Their  songs  are  of  the  free, 
And  ever  and  anon  the  cannon's  tones 

Go  thundering  to  the  sea. 

At  the  full  fount  of  Liberty  to-day 

Their  spirits  quaff  their  fill, 
And  at  thy  knee,  Columbia,  they  swear 

To  wish  and  work  thy  will. 

For,  oh  !  no  laggards  in  their  love  are  they, 

But  ready  at  thy  call 
To  bear  thy  starry  flag  o'er  land  and  sea, 

To  guard  thee  or  to  fall. 

But  oh  !  God  grant  that  never,  nevermore 

Thy  shores  with  blood  be  dyed. 
But  gentle  Peace  and  Liberty  combine 

To  bless  thy  country  wide. 


78  COLUMBIA. 


May  no  returning  birthday  on  thy  face 

Behold  the  trace  of  tears, 
But  find  thee  still  as  beautifully  grand 

Through  all  the  coming  years  ; 

Teaching  thy  children  reverence  for  the  past, 

Courage  for  days  to  be, 
And  that  the  power  to  guard  thy  rights  be  found 

In  one  word — Unity. 

So  shall  thy  reign  for  evermore  extend, 

If  but  their  true  hearts  hold, 
In  holy  trust,  the  sacred  charge  bequeathed 

By  thy  brave  chiefs  of  old. 


A  CLOUD-PICTURE. 


DOWN  sank  the  sun,  and  in  his  stead  there  came 
Clouds  shining  like  a  city  all  aflame; 
High  blazed  the  roofs  of  lofty  spire  and  dome, 
Red  glowed  the  embers  of  each  lowly  home. 
Upon  a  distant  upland  far  unrolled 
A  monarch's  tents  and  army  rich  with  gold — 
Hosts  of  a  victor  looking  proudly  down 
Upon  the  ruin  of  the  burning  town. 
Where  dim,  black  shadows  drifting  to  and  fro 
Seemed  bands  that  forth  to  waste  and  pillage  go. 
A  shaft  of  light,  lance-like  and  tipped  with  blood, 
Struck  where  the  army  of  the  conqueror  stood  ; 
A  flash,  a  blaze,  and  then — O  vision  dire  ! — 
The  tents  were  wrapped  in  sheets  of  living  fire, 
As  though,  when  joying  in  triumphant  flame, 
Avenging  hosts  upon  the  victors  came. 
Tlieir  mingling  bands  were  swiftly  swept  away, 
And  hidden  by  dense  clouds  of  leaden  gray; 
And  as  the  picture  faded  from  my  sight. 
Came  twilight  softly  ushering  in  the  night. 


ANOTHER   YEAR. 


ANOTHER  year,  grown  old  and  worn  and  weary, 
His  burden  down  has  cast, 
Sealed  with  his  blood  the  volume  he  has  written, 
And  laid  it  with  the  past  ; 

Another  year  whose  gifts  of  peace  and  plenty 

Our  fair,  Avide  land  have  blessed, 
Another  year  whose  fleeting  hours  have  brought  us 

Nearer  our  home  and  rest; 

Another  year  whose  crown  of  precious  moments 

Can  nevermore  be  ours, 
Save  those  which  shine  in  virtue's  holy  records 

And  bloom  as  heavenly  flowers ; 

Another  year — a  year  whose  tears  have  fallen 

On  graves  whose  red  mounds  hide 
The  forms  we  loved,  our  hearts  most  cherished  dar- 
lings. 

Who  in  life's  morning  died; 

Another  year — well  if  each  cross  it  brought  us 

Has  been  in  patience  borne. 
Lest  they  arise  as  witnesses  against  us 

In  the  dread  Judgment  morn. 


ANOTHER    YEAR.  8 1 

Another  year — the  good  old  year  has  perished, 

And  the  new  comes  apace, 
Pity  and  joy  and  hope,  in  tender  blending, 

Imprinted  on  his  face. 

Another  year — bright  angel-hands  are  twining 

A  wreath  with  which  to  crown 
His  infant  brow,  the  glad  New  Year  whose  glories 

The  Old  Year's  woes  shall  drown. 

Another  year — oh  !  may  its  dawn  be  joyous 

To  all  the  sons  of  earth, 
And  gentle  Peace  and  holy  Concord  linger 

Beside  each  household  hearth. 

May  Love  eternal  smooth  life's  rugged  pathway, 

And  Hope  reign  in  each  breast, 
Till,   earthly    turmoil    o'er,   Faith's    guerdon    crown 
them — 

The  New  Year  of  the  Blest. 


THE  STORM. 


THE  King  of  the  icy  North 
Once  summoned  his  hordes  in  glee — 
Once  summoned  and  sent  them  forth 

To  raid  upon  land  and  sea. 
They  swept  on  their  course  of  death 

Through  the  fields  that  so  late  were  fair, 
And  chilled  with  their  freezing  breath 
The  blossoms  found  springing  there. 

With  a  wild,  far-ringing  shout 

They  tore  from  the  old  oak's  clasp 
The  garland  of  summer  leaves 

Still  fluttering  within  its  grasp  ; 
A  volume  of  wrath  they  poured 

In  the  voice   of  the  mountain  pines, 
And  smote  a  discordant  chord 

On  the  harp  of  the  clinging  vines. 

Then  out  to  the  sea  they  passed, 

And  the  mariner's  cheek  grew  pale 
At  the  crash  of  the  falling  mast 

And  the  flap  of  the  wind-torn  sail, 
As  down  to  the  south  they  sped, 

And  roused  from  their  tranquil  rest 
The  sprites  of  the  mist  whose  bed 

Lies  under  the  ocean's  breast. 

Then,  mounting  the  skies  once  more, 

Back,  back  on  the  whirlwind's  wing 

They  came  with  the  tempest's  roar 

To  the  home  of  the  fierce  Storm-King, 
82 


THE   STORM.  83 


And  told  of  the  ruin  wild 

In  the  paths  which  their  steps  pursued, 
The  wasted  fields  where  they  passed, 

The  snow  on   the  hill-tops  strewed. 

Then  the  Storm-King  laughed  aloud, 

And  his  hoarse,  loud  notes  of  glee 
Rolled  out  of  the  thunder-cloud 

And  echoed  along  the  sea ; 
The  hills  to  their  great  hearts  shook 

With   a  thrill  as  of  sudden  fear, 
And  the  echoes  awaked  from  sleep 

And  answered  :    "  O  King,  we  hear  !  " 

Then  the  lance  of  the  lightning  leaped 

From  the  sheath  of  the  blackest  cloud, 
And  the  winds  in  their  anger  shrieked 

Till  the  crest  of  the  wood  was  bowed; 
While  pitiless,  drear,  and  cold 

Was  the  fall  of  the  driving  rain, 
Till,  the  writing  of  ruin  shone 

On  the  desolate,  sodden  plain. 

But  the  sun  with   his  shining  wand 

The  clouds  from  his  pathway  flung, 
And  over  the  east  in  light 

The  bow  of  fair  promise  hung. 
Then  the  Angel  of  Hope  sang  clear: 

*'In  patience  await.     We  bring 
In  the  wake  of  the  wasting  storm 

All  blessings  to  crown  the  spring." 


OUR   DEAD   PRESIDENT. 


WEEP  for  tlie  fallen  one  who  lies 
In  still  and  calm  repose, 
Death's  seal  upon  the  loving  eyes 

That  will  no  more  unclose, 
Though  round  him  throng  with  reverent  tread 
A  people  mourning  for  their  dead. 

Weep  for  the  Nation's  Chief  who  fell 

When  life  was  in  its  prime — 
Not  in  tlie  battle's  maddening  swell, 

But  by  the  hand  of  Crime, 
When  Peace,  in  bridal  robes  arrayed, 
The  fortunes  of  our  country  swayed. 

The  noble  heart  no  more  will   thrill 

At  Duty's  bugle-call ; 
The  ready  hand,  the  earnest  will, 

That  wrought  for  one  and  all, 
Are  resting  now,  their  life's  work  done. 
Their  goal  attained,  their  victory  won. 

The  ruler  of  tlie  fairest  land 
On  which  the  bright  sun  shines, 

Each  State  of  all  its  star-crowned  band 
A  wreath  of  memory  twines — 

A  wreath  gemmed  with  affection's  tear — 

To  lay  upon  the  hero's  bier. 
84 


OUR  DEAD  PRESIDENT.  85 

The  flag  he  served  above  him  floats 

In  sombre  symbols  dressed  ; 
The  voice  of  Joy  has  hushed  its  notes 

And  will  not  mar  his  rest; 
But  many  a  sad  and  bitter  moan 
Waketh  the  echoes  with  its  tone. 

From  lake  to  gulf,  from  sea  to  sea, 

The  mournful  murmur  swells, 
The  drums'  low  roll  of  agony, 

The  solemn  toll  of  bells, 
As  o'er  our  murdered  chieftain's  sleep 
Our  watch  and  ward   we  fondly  keep. 

But  deeper,  darker,  heavier  woe 

One  gentle  heart  must  bear. 
Love's  links  dissevered  by  this  blow 

That  bids  her  spirit  share 
The  sudden  blight,  the  midnight  gloom, 
The  awful  shadow  of  the  tomb. 

We  mourn  the  widow's  lonely  lot. 

The  orphan's  hapless  fate  ; 
And,  oh !  by  whom  can  be  forgot 

The  soul  so  desolate — 
The  aged  mother,  whose  last  years 
Are  darkened  by  this  grief,  these  tears  ? 

To  each  dear  mourner  true  hearts  yield 

A  meed  of  sympathy. 
God's  love  be  still  their  strength  and  shield 

Through  all  the  years  to  be ! 
God  keep  them  in  his  sweet  control 
And  soothe  each  sorrow-stricken  soul  ! 


DONNER  LAKE. 


LIKE  a  gem  in  rarest  setting,  or  a  poet's  dream  of 
beauty, 
Or   that    haven    which    a   pilgrim    pictures    in   his 
thoughts  of  rest. 
Is  the  lake  which  lies  encircled  by  the  fairest,  sweet- 
est blossoms, 
Sentinelled  by  giant  pine-trees  near  the  tall  Sierra's 
crest. 

O'er  its  waves  of  crystal  clearness  lightly  dance  the 
mountain  zephyrs. 
And  across  the  fringing  grasses  come  the  timid  deer 
to  drink, 
While  the  song  birds  carol  gaily  many  a  joyous  glee 
and  anthem, 
Resting  on  the  branches  bending  downward  to  the 
water's  brink. 

Looking  on   it  in  the  glory  of  the  summer's  fairest 
moments, 
Who  would  deem  its  echoes  ever   heard  the  wild, 
despairing  cry 
Of  that  little  band  of  heroes  who  had  toiled  through 
many  dangers. 
By  its  margin,  then  so  lonely,  there  to  famish  and 
to  die  ; 

86 


DONNER  LAKE.  8/ 


When  those  lofty  pines  were   writhing  in  the  storm- 
king's  fierce  embraces, 
And  the  winter's  snow  had  drifted,  forming  barriers 
broad  and  deep, 
While  the  craggy  heights  beyond  it,  in  their  weird  and 
grim  outlining. 
To  the  travellers'  straining  vision  seemed  an  ogre's 
castle-keep. 


Here  they  rested,  worn  and  weary,  the  bright  visions 
which  allured  them 
Veiled  behind   the  cloud  whose  darkness,  low  and 
dense,  obscured  their  way  ; 
The  wide  vales  of  peace  and  plenty  which  their  eager 
fancy  painted 
Lying  still  so  far  beyond  them  at  the  western  gates 
of  day. 


Who    can    paint    the    dreary  picture    of    those    sadly 
lengthening  hours. 
When  the  moments,  sorrow-freighted,  slowly  drag- 
ged their  iron  chain, 
While  across  the  tortured  spirits  of  the  sufferers  came 
the  haunting 
Memories  of  the  homes  whose  comforts  rose  before 
them  in  their  pain  ? 

Pictures  of  the  happy  evenings  spent  around  the  blaz- 
ing hearthside, 
Or  when  mirth  and  music  cheered  them  round  the 
joyous  festal  board, 


88  DONNER  LAKE. 


Came  to  mock  them  'mid  tlie  gnawing  of  the  fearful 
pangs  of  liunger, 
Or  when  o'er  the  echoing  mountains  loud  and  fierce 
the  tempest  roared. 


But  from  out   the   gloomy  shadows  which    o'erhang 
that  distant  period 
Shine  the  names  of  valiant  women,  glorious  hero- 
ines, who  wrought 

Marvels  for  their  starving  children,  and,  with  words 
of  hope  and  clieering, 

Courage   to  the  fainting  spirits  of  their  hapless  com- 
rades brouglit. 

Valiant    women !    noble  mothers !    Give    to    them   a 
deathless  glory, 
Laurels  brighter   than    tlie    warrior    bringeth  from 
the  battle-field. 
Write  tlieir  names  in  fadeless  letters  on  our  land's  his- 
toric records, 
Who,  though  facing  death  and  danger,  to  despair 
would  never  yield. 

They  have  passed  unto  their  guerdon,  and,  O  chil- 
dren loved  so  fondly  ! 
Let  no  cloud  obscure  the  brightness  of  their  mem- 
ory through  the  years  ; 
Cherish  it  with  fond  affection,  teach  your  children  to 
revere  it. 
Keep  it  green  with  the  bedewing  of  your  love's  sin- 
cerest  tears. 


DONNER  LAKE.  89 


How  the  grand  old  pines  of  Donner  seem  to  breathe 
the  story  over, 
As  their  murmurings  sound  like  echoes  of  the  pray- 
ers heard  long  ago, 
Sighing  still  as   though  in  pity  for  the  anguish  which 
they  witnessed, 
For  the  heart-break  and  the  sorrow,  for  the  agony 
and  woe  ! 

Lake    of  weird,   romantic    beauty  !  for   tlie  sake    of 
friends  who  bravely 
Quaffed  the   chalice  of  affliction  by  thy  waters  at 
that  time, 
For  their  sake,  true  friends  and  cherished,  do  I  dare 
to  make  this  offering. 
To  thy  beauties  and  thy  memories,  of  this  simple 
wreath  of  rhyme. 


A   MESSAGE    TO  ERIN, 


FROM  this  bright  reahii  of  Occidental  beauty, 
Laved  by  the  waters  of  the  sunset  sea, 
With  hearts  o'erfiovving  with  true,  filial  fondness, 
We  send  our  greeting,  Erin,  unto  thee — 

Mother  of  hero  sons,  whose  hearts,  undaunted. 
For  thee  have  faced  tlie  battle's  desperate  shock, 

And  poured  their  blood  upon  thy  fields  of  carnage. 
Or  bowed  their  heads  upon  the  fatal  block. 

How  many  hearts  for  tliee  have  throbbed  and  broken, 
How  many  prayers  for  thee  have  rent  the  skies, 

How  many  bursts  of  agony  unspoken 

From  hearts  that  longed  again  to  see  tliee  rise  ! 

How  many  bards,  with  love  for  thee  o'erflowing, 
Have  sung  thy  beauties  in  undying  strains, 

Though  with  each  note  of  harp  and  voice  was  blended 
The  sullen  clanking  of  their  galling  chains  ! 

Erin,  our  Queen,  though  crownless,  we  salute  thee! 

And  mourn  with  thee  thy  fallen,  saddened  state, 
Praying  that,  in  the  years  the  future  veileth, 

Bright  days  for  thee  and  for  thy  children  wait. 

When,  Gedeon-like,  our  chosen  band  of  brothers, 

Their  spirits  freed  from  thoughts  of  earthly  gain,' 

Shall  strike  the  shackles  from  thy  suffering  people, 

And  crown  tliy  regal  forehead  once  again; 
90 


A   MESSAGE    TO  ERIN. 


9T 


When,  clannish  hate  and  civil  strife  forgotten, 
And  hands  close  clasped  in  unity  and  love, 

Unto  our  island  home  once  more  returning, 

We  hail  fair  Peace  and  Freedom's  banished  dove ; 

When,  not  as  now,  on  this  thy  yearly  festal, 
Our  strains  of  joy  are  blent  with  falling  tears. 

But  when  in  fullest  glory  on  our  vision 

Dawneth  thy  future  bright  tlirough  coming  years  ; 

When  the  All-Father,  moved  by  prayers  to  pity. 
Shall  drive  the  tyrant  brood  from  out  thy  land. 

And,  freed  and  purified  by  Heaven's  ordaining, 
Dear  Mother  Erin,  thou  again  wilt  stand. 


A    SOUVENIR. 


1  CLASP  a  crystal  vase  of  winter  flowers, 
Of  fragrant,  golden  jonquils  sweet  as  fair. 
Breathing  of  chivalry  and  love  returned, 
And  dark-blue  violets  whose  beauty  bear 
The  tender  wishes  faithful  spirits  twine. 
The  message  of  thy  gentle  lieart  to  mine. 

A  perfect  gift,  a  souvenir  to  prize, 

A  bright  memento  through  succeeding  days 
Of  one  whose  pathway  lies  'neath  cloudless  skies 
Lit  by  the  splendor  of  love's  golden  rays — 
A  thought  of  thee,  whose  aim  through  life  has 

been 
To  gladden  by  kind  deeds  the  hearts  of  men  ; 

Lending  tliy  aid,  thy  words  of  gentle  cheer. 

Thy  smile's  clear  sunshine  chasing  sorrow's  gloom, 
Thy  presence  as  the  violets'  perfume  dear, 
Thy  spirit's  worth  as  golden  as  this  bloom 

Which  wafted  once  from  winter's  emerald  sod 
Its  incense  to  the  very  Throne  of  God. 

Thus  while  the  rain-clouds  rest  on  hill  and  vale, 
Showering  their  precious  freight  along  the  lea, 
I  gaze  upon  these  gems  from  Flora's  crown, 

And,  gazing,  weave  sweet  dreams,  beloved,  of  thee: 
Sweet  dreams,  fond  hopes,  that  all  thy  future 

know 
In  full  perfection  Love's  and  Friendship's  glow. 


BLIND. 


AS  one  who,  wandering  through  the  woods  alone 
When  evening  hours  grow  late, 
And,  filing  past  the  twilight's  purple  throne, 
The  stars  come  forth  in  state, 

Hears  o'er  some  tendrilled  harp  of  tangled  vines 

Tiie  zephyr's  fingers  play, 
And  fancies  in  the  moaning  strain  he  hears 

The  voice  of  one  astray; 

Pausing  to  listen  with  bewildered  brain, 

Deeming  it  some  poor  child. 
Like  the  lost  babes  of  childhood's  well-loved  tale 

Related  in  the  wild  ; 

Then  calls,  to  hear  no  answer  to  his  voice 

Save  echo's  ringing  tone. 
Or  the  low  cry  of  some  awakened  bird 

Blent  with  the  wind-harp's  moan  ; 

While  round  about  him  ever  denser  grows 

The  shadows  of  the  leaves, 
The  showers  of  darkness  from  the  garner  floors 

Where  Night  unbinds  the  sheaves  ; 

Then  wanders  on  as  through  an  unknown  world, 

The  starlight's  silvery  ray 
Piercing  the  darkness  like  an  angel's  wand 

To  guide  him  on  his  way — 


94  BLIND. 


So  do  I  wander  through  the  world  alone, 

Saddened  in  heart  and  mind  ; 
Earth  brings  no  comfort  to  my  bleeding  heart, 

For  I,  for  I — am  blind. 

I  tread  where  scenes  of  occidental  light 

Their  vistas  fair  unfurl, 
Where  genii  at  the  foot  of  Nature's  throne 

Their  brightest  offerings  hurl. 

To  me  the  murmurs  of  the  tide  of  life 

Seem  wind-harps  heard  afar, 
And  my  soul  turns  in  weariness  away 

From  noontide's  heat  and  jar^ 

But  the  bright  stars,  whose  glories  poets  sing, 

Look  down  on  me  at  night  ; 
Through  the  Egyptian  darkness  of  my  soul 

They  send  their  shafts  of  light. 

Kindling  upon  the  altar  of  my  heart 

Their  soft,  celestial  fires, 
Stirring  within  me  by  tiieir  holy  glow 

A  flood  of  sweet  desires. 

And  earth  unveils  before  me  in  those  hours 

Her  gems  of  field  and  flood, 
The  rare,  bright  blossoms  of  the  spring-time's  crown 

She  scattered  in  the  wood  : 

The  blooms  o'er  which  my  listless  footsteps  press 

While  wandering  on  the  wold, 
The  cowslip  in  her  robes  of  purple  state, 

The  violet's  cup  of  gold. 


BLIND.  95 


Frail,  fairy  blossoms  flecked  with  creamy  white, 

Reflecting  March-day  skies, 
And  gilias  locking  in  their  purple  cells 

Heart-secrets  from  all  eyes. 

She  shows  me  fairy  grots  by  hillsides  far 
Where  fern-leaves  cluster  green, 

And  ruby-throated  humming-birds  astir 
In  all  their  glorious  sheen. 

And  bird-songs  that  I  listened  to  all  day 

Come  back  to  me  again, 
Filling  with  their  soft  music,  glad  and  sweet, 

The  chambers  of  my  brain. 

The  blended  voices  of  the  day  arise 

In  chorus  deep  and  grand — 
The  heart-thanksgiving  by  the  millions  poured 

Throughout  this  golden  land. 

And  with  them  may  my  poor  weak  strains  arise, 

Not  in  repining  tone, 
But  grateful  for  the  gifts  which  generous  hands 

Around  my  path  have  thrown, 
s 


SUNSET. 


THE  Day-God  paused  on  our  western  hills, 
Where  Evening  waits  in  a  tender  glow, 
And  took  from  her  fingers  a  crystal  cup 
To  pledge  his  love  for  the  vale  below. 

The  cup  was  crowned  to  its  golden  rim 
With  wine  of  a  beautiful  amber  hue. 

Pressed  from  the  vintage  of  cloudland  shores, 
And  beaded  with  tears  of  the  morning  dew. 

He  held  it  aloft  while  it  glowed  and  gleamed 
'Neath  the  burning  glance  of  his  fiery  eyes, 

And  the  azure  arch  of  the  heavens  caught  up 
And  mirrored  it  back  in  a  thousand  dyes. 

He  quaffed  the  draught  to  the  valley  fair 
As  it  calmly  lay  in  its  peace  and  rest, 

And  proudly  yielded  to  Evening's  sway 
The  garden-spot  of  the  glorious  West. 

Then,  with  murmured  phrases  of  love  and  praise, 
Her  regal  forehead  he  fondly  kissed  ; 

When  lo  !   at  her  blushes  the  amber  clouds 
Took  the  tenderer  tints  of  the  amethyst. 

And  he  passed  away  while  the  rosy  glow 

Like  an  arch  of  glory  the  blue  vault  spanned, 

And  Evening,  flushed  with  her  monarch's  kiss, 
Raised  her  starry  sceptre  above  the  land. 

96 


PADRE   yUNIPERO'S  MONUMENT, 


THE    CHURCH    OF    CARMELO. 


THERE   are  songs   of  deathless   glory  twined    to 
crown   the  brows   of  heroes 
With  the  laurels  love   and  reverence  as  a  meed  of 
honor  yield 
To  the  gallant  knights  and  leaders  who  have  borne  a 
stainless  banner 
For  earth's   noblest  cause  and  purest  over  many  a 
battle-field. 

There  are  lofty  marble  columns  builded  in  commemo- 
ration 
Of  the  works  their  hands  completed  and  the  victo- 
ries they  won, 
Telling  in  a  deathless  language  to  the  swift  succeed- 
ing ages 
All  the  hearts  now  cold  and  pulseless  to  uplift  our 
race  have  done. 

But  our  land's  first  Saint  and  Hero — he  whose  name 
will  shine  for  ever 
First  on  California's   records,  foremost  by  a  right 
divine  ; 
He  whose  fervent  zeal  enkindled  in  her  wilds  the  light 
celestial 
Of  God's  holy  Faith,  and  builded  many  a  fair  and 
lofty  shrine  ; 

97 


98  PADRE   JUNIPERO'S  MONUMENT. 


He,  the   pure,  the  true,  the  fearless   follower  of  the 
great  Saint  Francis, 
With  a  spirit  as  devoted  and  seraphic  as  his  own. 
Our  sainted  Padre  Serra,    who  within'  our   Father's 
kingdom 
Ranketh  now  tiie  tribes  he  rescued  round  about  the 
Maker's  throne — 

Must  he  sleep,  unknown,  unhonored,  where  the  wind 
its  dirge  is  breathing, 
And  the  waves  are  breaking,  breaking  on  the  beach 
with  thund'rous  swell, 
Where  the  tear-drops  of  the  Winter  and  the  Summer's 
smile  of  pity 
Fall  on  broken  arch  and  column  of  the  Mission  of 
Carmel  ? 

Must  the  shrine  that  holds   such   treasure  as   his  pre- 
cious body  perish  ? 
Nay  ;  let  saving  hands  extended  bid  it  rise  in  grace 
once  more, 
And  its  bells  give   daily  greeting  at  the  joyous  hours 
of  Ave 
To  the  echoing  hills  around   it  and  the  lone,  surf- 
beaten  shore. 

It  was  there  his  heart  was  centred  with  his  neophytes 
around  him, 
Teaching  them  to  pray  and  labor  by  example  as  by 
word  ; 
In  the  fields  he  toiled  amidst  them,  while  his  gentle 
voice,  uplifted, 
Sang  the  holy  hymns  whose  cadence  e'en  the  rudest 
bosoms  stirred. 


PADRE    JUNIPERO'S  MONUMENT.  99 

There  he  rested  from  his  journeys — rest  which  shames 
our  weak  repining, 
With  the  history  of  its  ceaseless  thought,  its  fond, 
paternal  care, 
For  the    children    of   our   country,    wooed    and  won 
from  pagan  darkness, 
And  called  the  light  and  glory  of  God's  tender  love 
to  share. 

California's  fairest  valleys  by  his  presence  have  been 
hallowed, 
For  he  walked,  as  angel  guarded,  fearless  through 
the  trackless  land, 
Winning  from  each   wild   and  fastness   its  rude   race, 
who  heard  in  wonder 
Meek  Junipero's  voice  of  pleading  and  obeyed  his 
sweet  command  : 

*'Come   to   God,  whose   hand  hath   made   you  to  his 
image  and  his  likeness  ; 
Come  to  him   whose  love,  my  children,  is  unmea- 
sured and  untold  : 
Come  to  him  who  died  to  save  you,  and  the  mantle  of 
his  mercy, 
And  his  love  sweet  and  consuming,  will  your  souls 
in  joy  enfold." 

How  the  zeal  which  fired  his  bosom  lit  and  glorified 
his  features. 
Trembled  in  his  voice  and  echoed  in  each  hearer's 
kindling  heart ! 
Till  the   present  seemed  to   vanish,  and  in  glad,  en- 
raptured vision 
They  beheld   the    shining   kingdom    wherein    they 
might  claim  a  part. 


lOO        PADRE   yUNIPERO'S  MONUMENT. 


One    who    shared    his    toils   and    dangers,    one    who 
watched  his  latest  moments, 
Paints  for  us  tiie  anguished   sorrow,  overwhelming 
and  deep, 
Of  the  broken-hearted  Indians,  as  in  agony  they  clus- 
tered 
Round  the  form  of  their  apostle  wrapped  in  death's 
unwaking  sleep. 

Lo  !  a  hundred  years  have  numbered  countless  changes 
in  their  passage 
Since  the  day  the  Saviour  called  him  home  to  ever- 
lasting rest  ; 
But   his   hallowed  memory  lingers  with   us,  ever  fresh 
and  glorious, 
And   we  deem  that  spot  as  holy  which  his  sainted 
presence  blessed. 

Therefore  should  all   grateful  spirits  aid   to  raise  in 
pristine  beauty 
The  fair  church   within  whose  shadow  sleeps  our 
Pioneer  and  Saint, 
For  to  him  are  all  indebted  ;   'twas  his  dauntless  zeal 
and  courage 
Won  our  land's  rude  sons  from  evil   to   religion's 
sweet  restraint. 


MORNING. 


BENEATH  star-gemmed  arches  glowing 
In  the  Orient's  gorgeous  land, 
Rose-hued  robes  about  her  flowing, 
Diamond  dew-drops  on  her  wand, 
In  with  merry,  joyous  air 
Entereth  Morning,  sweetly  fair. 

Bright  her  lustrous  eyes  are  glancing, 

Round  her  flits  a  fairy  train. 
Onward  moves  she  'mid  their  dancing 

Over  ocean,  hill,  and  plain, 
Kissing  Night's  dark  frown  away. 
Softly  ushering  in  the  Day. 


EVENING, 


DRAWING  wide  the  crimson  curtains 
From  the  sunset's  golden  dome, 
See  above  the  western  mountains 

Star-browed  Evening  softly  come, 
While  her  purple  robe's  rich  glow 
Trails  along  the  hills  below. 

With  her  great  voice,  deep  and  holy. 
Bidding  earthly  cares  depart, 

Giving  both  to  high  and  lowly 

Peace  and  rest  of  brain  and  heart. 

Passing  on  with  footsteps  light 

Yields  she  to  the  dark  queen  Night. 


NIGHT, 


THE  last  faint  flush  of  the  eventide 
Fades  out  from  the  western  hills, 
And  the  farewell  notes  of  the  song-birds  come 
With  a  quiver  of  "  Good-night  "  trills. 

Tlie  dark-robed  shadows  with  timid  steps 

Glide  out  of  the  gorges  deep 
Where,  shunning  the  gaze  of  the  fervid  noon, 

They  have  lain  in  a  dreamless  sleep. 

How  they  cluster  in  groups  'neath  the  woodland 
shades, 

Or  flit  o'er  the  valley's  breast, 
But  pause  awe-struck  where  yon  crimson  line      • 

Still  brightens  the  glowing  west. 

Till  over  the  Coast  Range's  crested  heights 
Hangs  the  beautiful  Evening's  shield — 

A  silver  star  in  its  radiance  bright 
On  a  peerless  azure  field  ! 

Then  with  swifter  footsteps  the  shades  flit  by 

In  chase  of  the  flying  light, 
And  starry  banners  in  many  a  fold 

Float  over  the  towers  of  Night. 

5*  »03 


I04  NIGHT. 

While,  soft  as  the  stir  of  an  angel's  wing 
As  it  sweeps  through  the  realms  of  air, 

Down  through  the  hush  of  the  solemn  hours 
Comes  a  balm  like  the  breath  of  prayer, 

As  through  the  fragrance  of  grateful  hearts. 
Upraised  with  the  fading  light, 

Was  soaring  up  to  the  gates  of  Heaven 
And  flooding  the  heart  of  Night. 

For  Night  brings  rest  to  the  weary  brain, 
Glad  rest  to  the  hands  that  toil. 

And  sleep  shuts  out  each  scene  of  strife. 
Of  grief,  and  of  wild  turmoil. 

Then  welcome,  Night,  with  thy  radiant  brow 
And  its  soothing  charm  untold  ! 

Welcome  the  boons  that  thy  presence  brings, 
And  tiie  blessings  thy  pure  hands  hold  ! 

In  the  silent  hours  of  thy  reign,  O  Night ! 

Speak  to  each  listening  heart 
Of  the  Saviour's  kingdom  of  love  and  light 

Where  his  servants  alone  have  part ; 

That,  rising  with  higher  and  holier  aims. 
And  strengthened  for  earthly  strife, 

They  may  onward  press  o'er  the  narrow  way 
To  the  halls  of  eternal  life. 


VIOLETS. 


BLUE-EYED  violets,  fragrant  and  sweet  and  ten- 
der, 
Earliest  gift  of  the  generous  hand  of  Spring, 
Fresh  and   sweet,  and  with   diamond  dew-drops  glit- 
tering 
Brushed    in    haste    from    the    beautiful    Morning's 
wing. 

Emblems  meet  of  a  loving  and  faithful  spirit, 

"I  will  be  constant,"  and  never  forget,  they  say; 

Like  a  woman's  heart  which  treasures  some  precious 
memory 
To  fling  its  lialo  over  life's  shadowy  way. 

Blue-eyed  violets,  emblems  of  fadeless  friendship, 
Ye  waken  again  the  dreams  of  the  buried  past, 

Of   hours   which    caught    from   rose-red   lips'  sweet 
smiling 
A  summer  glory  too  fair  and  too  bright  to  lastj 

The  hours  when  Twilight  her  dewy  violets  scattered 
In  rich  profusion  over  our  Western  land, 

When  the  balmy  air  was  heavy  with  garden  odors, 
And  queenly  Hesper  uplifted  her  shining  wand]; 


I06  VIOLETS. 


Calm,  dreamy  hours,  when  heart  unto  heart  replying 
Quaffed  the  full   chalice   of   Hope    by   Friendship 
crowned, 

When  the  weary  discord  of  earth,  into  silence  dying, 
Lent  the  charm  of  rest  to  the  stillness  that  reigned 

,  around. 

Dear  friend,  who  trod  with  me  through  the  summer 
gloaming, 
Emblemed  by  violets,  constant  and  leal  and  true, 
May  the  present   be  fair  as  the  glow  of  these  spring- 
day  blossoms, 
And   the   future  hold  naught  but  the   brightest   of 
gifts  for  you. 

God  bless  you,  sweet  friend  !     May  the  fragrance  of 
good  deeds  surround  you. 
And   heavenward  soar  as  the  breath  of  the  violets 
rise. 
And  angels   keep    watch    till  our    Heavenly    Father 
shall  call  you 
Home    to   his  love    and    his    rest  in   the  beautiful 
skies  ! 


AUTUMN  AMID  THE  HILLS. 


IROAiVIED  to-day  where  the  summer's  wreatii 
Lay  trampled  down  'mid  the  mountain  heath, 
And  with  balsamic  breath  the  fresh  breeze  sweeps 
Where  the  tall  pines  tower  on  the  rocky  steeps. 
Far,  far  below  by  the  river's  side 
I  saw  the  maples  stand  crimson-dyed, 
Like  torches  lit  by  the  Autumn's  hand. 
To  brighten  the  glens  of  our  Western  land. 

'Twas  a  fair,  wild  scene.     From  the  shadowy  glooms 

Peered  timidly  forth  a  few  frail  blooms, 

And  the  branching  ferns  'neath  the  old  oaks  spread 

A  carpet  green  for  tlie  wanderer's  tread; 

While  rich  zauschnerias  in  beauty  stood 

Gemming  the  hills  with  their  hearts'  best  blood, 

And  the  sweet  pink  blossoms  of  eglantine 

Poured  their  wealth  of  perfume  on  Autumn's  shrine, 

While  over  the  dead  leaves,  drifted  low, 

Glistened  symphoricarp's  shining  snow. 

Northward  far  on  the  loftiest  hill 

I  marked  the  trace  of  the  Fire-King  still. 

Where  the  gloomy  pall  over  nature  cast 

Showed  that  his  train  in  their  wrath  had  passed. 

Beyond  the  river  the  mountains  old 
Rose,  wrapped  in  their'mantles  of  cloth  of  gold, 
Clasped  by  the  laurel's  fadeless  green 
And  broidered  with  many  a  dark  ravine, 
107 


I  08  A  UTUMN  AMID    THE  HILLS. 

Their  firm  feet  planted  in  pride  below 

Where  the  sycamores  gleam  witli  a  golden  glow. 

And  the  honeysuckle's  trailing  vine 

Delights  o'er  the  moss-grown  rocks  to  twine, 

Drooping  low  o'er  the  waterless  bed 

Of  the  river,  that  looks  to  the  sky  overliead 

With  a  pleading  cry  for  the  gladsome  rain 

That  will  speed  it  forth  to  tlie  sounding  main — 

That  will  speed  it  forth  with  its  message  free, 

The  mountain's  greeting  unto  the  sea. 

'Twas  a  fair,  wild  scene.     Yet  a  stillness  lay 

Like  a  shadow  of  death  o'er  the  lovely  day : 

No  sound  arose  in  the  solemn  hush 

Save  the  quail's  light  flutter  from  bush  to  bush, 

Or  the  jay's  swift  flight  as  he  lightly  sped 

To  feast  on  the  holly-berries  red  ; 

And  now  and  then  was  the  silence  stirred 

By  the  musical  twitter  of  some  wee  bird. 

That  waked  a  longing  to  hear  again 

Each  echo  answer  in  glade  and  glen. 

How  changed  these  wilds  since  the  bright  Spring  days 

When  blossoms  brightened  their  tangled  maze, 

And  in  accents  thrilling  and  sweet  and  clear 

The  linnets  sang  in  the  thickets  near  ; 

When  the  mountain  streams  with  a  leaping  bound 

Answered  the  river's  murmuring  sound  ! 

Now,  veiled  in  a  silence  sad  and  drear, 

They  wait  the  death  of  the  passing  year  ; 

They  wait  till  the  Autumn  has  passed  away. 

And  chill  old  Winter  resigned  his  sway, 

When  joyous  Spring  over  hill  and  glen 

Will  come  to  their  fairy  haunts  again. 


BRIDAL   STANZAS. 


WHILE  Spring  by  the  Occident's  rivers 
Still  lingers  in  beauty  and  pride, 
We  bring  our  heart-blossoms  of  friendship, 
Of  love,  and  of  joy  to  the  bride. 

And  we  heard  in  the  ^eafy  old  woodlands, 
Where  the  shadows  fall  dusky  and  dim, 

The  wild-birds,  with  musical  cadence, 
As  they  sang  for  her  bridal  this  hymn  : 

"  Crown  her  chalice  of  life  with  the  roses 
Spring  twined  for  the  coming  of  May, 
And  fill  with  the  nectar  of  pleasure, 
Clear,  sparkling,  and  pure  in  its  ray  ; 

"  That  her  lips  may  not  taste  of  the  fennel 
Which  embitters  the  red  wine  of  life. 
But  from  fountains  of  peace,  whose  o'erflowing 
Shall  banish  all  sorrow  and  strife, 

"  While  she  walks  in  youth's  bowering  garden, 
The  niarital  ring  on  herliand — 
The  symbol  of  union  unending. 
Love's  honoring  token  and  band. 

"  And  we  crave  for  our  darling  a  future 
As  bright  as  the  blossoms  of  spring, 
As  glad  as  the  skylark's  clear  anthems 
When  mounting  aloft  on  the  wing. 


no  BRIDAL   STANZAS. 

"  Let  Friendship  and  Truth  stand  beside  her, 
To  guard  and  protect  as  of  yore, 
And  Love  be  the  helmsman  to  guide  her 
Life's  bark  to  the  angelic  shore  ; 

"While  Charity,  Heaven-sent  maiden, 
And  Faith  in  her  beauty  divine, 
And  Hope  with  her  carol  of  cheering. 
Fresh  joys  for  her  voyage  will  twine, 

"  As  she  leaves  the  bright  shores  of  her  childhood 
Her  girlhood's  glad,  blossoming  bowers. 
To  lean  on  the  husband  whose  loving 

Shall  strengtlien  and  ciieer  through  all  hours. 

"And  we  pray  that  the  storm-clouds  of  sorrow 
May  never  their  spirits  enfold. 
But  their  lives'  tides  be  calm  as  our  rivers' 
Asleep  on  their  sands'  drifted  gold  ; 

"  That  the  angels  of  love  who  watch  o'er  them 
May  bless  with  beneficent  hand, 
And  with  honor  and  virtue  united 

Tlieir  names  be  revered  through  the  land  ; 

"  That  when  Azrael's  warning  shall  summon 
Them  home  when  his  Master  has  willed, 
He  may  find  no  life-duty  left  waiting, 
No  mission  of  love  unfulfilled." 

May  2,  1870. 


THE  PICNIC. 


THROUGH   niiiny  a  scene  where  Flora  ruled, 
Or  Ceres  blessed  the  smiling  plain, 
We  followed  on  with  merry  hearts, 
And   joyous   Pleasure  led  our  train. 

The  blithe  lark  carolled  overhead 

His   morning   anthem,  sweet    and  clear  ; 

Soft  breezes  stirred  the  blossoming  copse. 
And  flung  its  fragrance  far  and   near. 

Around    us,   fair  as   poet's  dream, 

Tl)e   queen  of  valleys  spread   her  charms, 

While  peace  and  plenty,  joy   and  hope. 
Seemed  guarding  her  from  rude   alarms. 

We  passed  tlie  stream  whose  May-day  voice 
Scarce  waked  an  eclio  on  its  course. 

Though  round  it  lay  in  ruin  piled 
Mementoes  of  its  wintry  force. 

Then  left  the  broad  domain  of  man. 

The  city,  town,  and  hamlet  fair. 
To  wander  'mid  the  mighty  hills 

Where   lofty  pine-trees  tower  in  air  ; 

Where  all  of  beautiful   or  bright 

That  owns  the  sway  of  Nature's  hand 

Makes  Saratoga's  lone  dell  seem 
A  garden-spot  in  Fairyland. 


I  I  2  THE  PICNIC, 


There   blossoms  bright  with   tropic  glow, 
And  humming-birds  of  gorgeous  dyes, 

Mocked  the  brown  linnet's  modest  plumes, 
And  foliage  born  'neath  Northern  skies. 

Tall,  branching  ferns  and  clustering  moss 
Draped  the  rude  rocks  that  lined  the  dell, 

Or  leaned  above  the  dark  abyss 

Where,  white  with  foam,  tlie  waters  fell. 

And  wild-flowers,  with  their  beauteous  hearts 
Athrob  with  May's  warm  light  and  glow, 

Drooped  where  the  mineral  water  dropped 
Into  the  deep-hewn  rock  below. 

Amid  the  waving  grass  that  spread 
Its  carpet  'neath  the  spreading  trees. 

The  timid  white  forget-me-not 

Seemed  whispering  to  the  passing  breeze. 

There  was  a  beauty  in  the  air, 

A  wondrous  sense  of  calm  and  rest, 

A  power  to  soothe  the  weary  mind 
And  still  the  tumult  of  the  breast. 

But  how  can  my  weak  words  portray 
The  rapturous  feelings  of  delight 

Which  swelled  in  every  giizer's  heart 
When  burst  that  vision  on  our  sight. 

As  the  good  genius  of  the  hour, 

Robed  fairylike  in  forest  green. 
Guided  us  to  the  charmed  bower 

Beside  the  cascade's  sparkling  slieen, 


THE   PICNIC. 


113 


And  with  the  witchery  of  her  smile, 
And  birdlike  notes  so  sweet  and  gay, 

Made  every   passing  moment  seem 
A  rosebud  in  the  lap  of  May? 

And  there  where  from  the  blooming  bowers 

Soft  perfumes  loaded  every  gale, 
And  where  admiring  eyes  might  rest 

Upon  the  snowy  Bridal  Veil, 

They  spread  the  princely  banquet  forth 
With  many  a  dainty  viand  stored, 

And  wines  whose  sparkling  ray  might  well 
Have  graced  a  monarch's  festal  board. 

And  so  with  feast  and  song  and  dance 

On  rosy  pinions  sped  the  day. 
And  hearts  beat  high  when  noble  deeds 

Or  love  of  country  fired  the  lay. 

Friendship  with  brow  serene  was  there. 

And  Love,  whose  sceptre  swayed  the  throngs 

And  cheered  the  mazes  of  the  dance 
Or  lent   his  patlios  to  the  song. 

Who  owned  his  power?     Oh  !  answer,  ye 
Who  trod  that  far,  sky-soaring  ridge, 

Or  paused  where  fell   the  rippling  brook 
Across  the  road  beneath  the  bridge. 

What  wealth  of  wild-flowers  from  the  hills, 
What  treasured  blooms  from  cliff  and  bank, 

We  twined  with  fern-leaves  culled  where  fell 
The  spray  on  mosses  dark  and  dank  ; 


114  THE  PICNIC. 


And  leaves  whose  fadeless  emerald  sheen 
Had  decked  the  red  Madrona's  crest, 

And  sprays  of  fragrant  eglantine, 

And  laurels  from  the   mountain's  breast  ! 

So  wandered  we  through  Nature's  bovvers 
Till  far  the  lengthening  shadows  lay, 

Like  warning  spectres  that  proclaimed 
The  closing  of  that  merry  day. 

Then  homeward  from  that  beauteous  scene 
With  care-free  hearts  we  turned  once  more  ; 

While  rang  the  wild-bird's  sunset,  song, 
Commingling  with  the  torrent's  roar: 

Homeward   while  pale-browed   Evening  trod 
In  shadowy  robes  across  the  land. 

And  in  the  watch-towers  of  the  sky 

The  stars,  like  guardians,   took  their  stand  : 

Homeward  beneath  the  drooping  plumes 
Of  many  an  old    oak's  storm-worn  crest, 

While  through  the  shrubbery  light  and  shade 
Played  like  weird  spirits  of  unrest : 

Home  !  and  within  its  lighted  halls. 
Where  music's  swell  rose  on  the  air, 

Where  soon  amid  the  merry  dance 

Light-hearted  trod  the  young  and  fair. 

With  song  and  glee  the  night  sped  on 
Till  midnight's  witching  hour  had  fled. 

And  Time's  relentless  monitor 

Proclaimed  the  day  of  joy  was  dead. 


THE  PICNIC.  I  I  5 


Dead,  but  its  beauties  long  shall  live 
Enshrined  'mid  memory's  treasures  rare, 

In  after-years  to  cheer  the   heart 

And  banisli  thoughts  of  grief  and  care. 

Then,  blithe  companions  of  those  hours, 
The  merriest  hours  that  crowned  the  May, 

Pledge  we  once  more  our  parting  toast : 
""  The  host  and  hostess  of  the  day  !  " 


IRISH  MUSIC. 


1   HEARD  a   voice  along  the  strand 
And  echoing  o'er  the  sea, 
A  strain  of  music  deep  and   grand 
That  sang,  beloved,  of  thee — 
Of  thee,  dear  land. 

It  whispered  of  the  days  of  old 
When  thou  wert  young  and  fair, 

When  richest  gems  and  gleaming  gold 
Were  shining  in  thy  hair 

And  on  thy  mantle's  fold. 

It  sang  the  deeds  of  noble  knights 

In  thy  heroic  days ; 
And  all  that  heart  or  ear  delights 

It  murmured  in  thy  praise, 

Whose  wrong  no  lover  rights. 

I  listened  till  I  seemed  to  hear 

The  low,  melodious  call 
Of  streamlets  flowing  pure  and  clear 

'Mid  mountains,  green  and  tall, 
Where  browse  the  timid  deer. 

I  heard  the  tramp  of  armed  men, 
And  marked  them  pass  along. 

While  out  of  many  a  fairy  glen 
Arose  the  wild  war-song, 

Till  far  beyond  my  ken 

ii6 


IRISH  MUSIC. 


There  rose  the  sound  of  combat  dire, 

Of  deadly  mortal  strife. 
O  souls  of  many  a  patriot  sire  ! 

Ye  kindle  into   life 

Our  hearts   with  fond   desire. 

How  grandly,    sweetly  sound  thy  strains, 

Dear  music  of  our  land, 
While  she   upon   her  fertile   plains 

Weeps  'mid  her  captive  band, 

And  lists  the  clank  of  chains. 

O  voice  of  music !  speak  once  more 

Of  Erin's  hope  and  pride, 
Of  those  who  the  green  banner  bore 

O'er  fields  of  carnage  wide, 

And  blessed  the  Irish  shore. 

For  dearer  than   thy  notes  of  glee 

We  love  the  fervent  lays 
That  breathe  of  bright  days  yet  to  be, 

And  chant  our  Mother's   praise. 
The   fair   gem  of  the   sea. 

Mossy  Woodland,  Aug.  23,  1881. 


OUR  FLAG. 


WHEN  first  out  of  chaos  and  darkness  arose, 
By  God's   potent  word,  this  fair  world  which 
we  view, 
When  the  bounds  of  streams,  rivers,  and  oceans  he 
set, 
And  painted  the  skies  sucli  an  exquisite  blue, 

Then   he   made  day  and  night,  and  commanded'  the 
stars — 
Fair  lilies  of  light  in  the  sky-fields  that  bloom, 
Sleepless  guardians  of  earth  o'er  the  wide  stretching 
zones — 
The  darkness  of  night  with  their  rays  to  illume. 

And  lo  !  as  a  herald  of  dawning  he  spread 

O'er  the  gates  of  the  Orient  a  warm  crimson'glow. 

That  broadens  and  brightens  as  Morning  comes  fortli, 
One  jewel  of  light  on  her  forehead  of  snow. 

And  so  when  our  country,  by  tyrants  oppressed. 
Quaffed  the  chalice  of  woe  by  the  far  eastern  sea, 

Our  forefathers  rose  in  their  courage  and  vowed 
I'hat  the  land  of  their  love  should  be  joyous  and 
free. 

And  as  symbol  of  Hope,  on  a  field  azure  blue, 
Lo  !  the  stars  of  the  heavens  in  beauty  they  set: 

With  the  crimson  of  dawning  iind  snow  of  the  morn 
They  fashioned  the  banner  that  waves  o'er  us  yet — 


OUR  FLAG. 


The  banner  we  love,  the  dear  "  Flag  of  the  Free," 
That  is  flinging  its  folds  to  the  soft  breeze  to-day 

From  the  North  to  the  South,  from  the  East  to  the 
West, 
Where  Freedom  rejoicing  holds  jubilant  sway. 

'Twas  their  beacon  in  darkness,  their  herald  of  dawn, 
Their  light  of  a  morning  whose  midday  should  see 

The  homes  which  they  held  as  the  pulse  of  their  heart 
From  the  bonds  of  the  tyrant  for  ever  set  free. 

How  nobly  they  struggled  !  God  rest  those  who  fell 
In  the  battles  for  freedom  !  Their  memory  we'll  hold 

Enshrined  in  our  souls,  while  a  grateful  land  writes 
Their  names  on  her  annals  in  letters  of  gold. 

Brigiit  Flag  of  our  country  !  how  proudly  it  waved 
In  the  front  of  the  conflict,  exulting  and  high. 

When  the  angry  strife  echoed  o'er  mountain  and  shore, 
And  our  brave  sires  went  forth  pledged  to  conquer 
or  die. 

And  they  conquered  !     The   foot  of  the   spoiler  no 
more 
Leaves  its  blight  on  the  green  of  our  fair  Western 
land  : 
He  was  driven  from  America's  beautiful  shore 

By  her  sons,  earth's  most  gallant  and  valorous  band. 

Dear  Flag  of  the  Free  !     With  what  rapture  we  hail 
Thy  light  as  it  burns  on  our  watch-towers  to-day  ! 

May  thy  stars  never  pale,  but  shine  on  evermore, 
Illumining  our  path  with  their  silvery  ray! 

6 


I20  OUR  FLAG. 


May  the  years  as  they  pass  see  thy  splendors  increase, 
And  the  land  thy  smile   blesses  still  prosper  and 
grow, 

While  the  hearts  of  her  children,  rejoicing  in  peace, 
Keep  the  fire  on  the  altar  of  Freedom  aglow ! 

God  bless  thee,  dear  Flag !     May  thy  folds  ever  wave 
Over  scenes  where  no  hatred  nor  rancor  may  dwell, 

But  where  Faith,  Hope,  and  Love   lend  their  graces 
divine, 
And  the  glad  voice  of  Plenty  her  sweet  carols  swell. 

Float,  float  o'er  our  homes,  O  loved  Flag  of  the  Free  ! 
Through  the  winter's  wild  tempest,  the  light  of  the 
spring, 
Through  the  summer's  soft  glow,  and  when  autumn 
will  steal, 
Thy  crimson  o'er  forest  and  woodland  to  fling. 

Float,  float   o'er  our  homes  tlxrough  the  glad  hours 
of  life, 
Fill  our  hearts  with  fond  thoughts  of  our  noble  and 
brave  ; 
And  when    death  comes  at   last   may   the  Stars  and 
the  Stripes 
Be  stirred  by  the  breeze  that  steals  over  each  grave! 

July  4,  1881. 


ONWARD. 


UP  and  onward,  idle  dreamer  ! 
There  is  work  for  all  to  do  : 
Lo !    the  fields  around  are  whitening, 
And  the  harvesters  are  few. 

There  are  fields  where  Wrong  is  trampling 
On  the  seeds  of  Truth  and  Right, 

There  are  fields  where  hunger  crushes 
With  the  iron  wheel  of  might. 

There  are  scenes  where  sin  and  wassail 
Hold  enslaved  the  priceless  soul, 

Where  the  mind  is  bowed  and  broken 
By  its  bondage  to  the  bowl. 

There  are  duties  waiting  on  thee, 
There  are  tasks  thou  shouldst  fulfil, 

In  the  pathway  traced  before  thee 
By  thy  Heavenly  Master's  will. 

Wounded  hearts  demand  thy  caring  : 
Whisper  words  of  kindly  cheer, 

Lift  the  Cross  from  aching  shoulders, 
Breathe  of  hope  to  those  who  fear. 


122  ONWARD. 


"  Onward  !  upward  !  "  be  thy  motto  ; 

Take  thy  place  amidst  the  band 
Of   the  toilers  in  the  harvest, 

Pilgrims  to  the  Better  Land. 

Not  through  idle,  aimless   dreaming, 
Not  through  murmuring  or  despair, 

Lies  the  path  which  leads  us  upward 
To  the  great  white  Throne  of   prayer. 


A  SPRING-DA  V  RIDE. 


LET  us  check  awhile  our  chargers 
Here  upon  the  mountain's  height, 
While  we  look  along  the  valley 

Bathed  in  the  May-day  light — 
While  we  look   along  the  valley 

With  its  leagues  of  brilliant  blooms, 
And  their  gorgeous  tints  contrasting 

With  the  wheat-fields'  emerald  plumes  ; 
On  the  shorn  and  whitening  meadows, 

On  the  barley's  bearded  lips. 
And  white  cottages  whose  roses 

Veil  them  in  a  sweet    eclipse. 

Down  upon  the  vale's  broad  bosom, 

'Mid  its  thousand  trees   and  flowers. 
See  the  villages  encircled 

By  their  orchards'  waving  bowers. 
There  the  Llagas  windeth  slowly 

Down  unto  the  willowy  glades, 
And  far  northward  spreads  the  forest 

With  its  wild,  gloom-haunted  shades. 
Eastward  lies  Lake  Tequisquita, 

First  to  greet  the  morning  star ; 
Thence  the  Pajaro  windeth  seaward 

Through  the  western  mountains  far. 
Is  it  not  a  lovely  picture  ? 

How  its  beauties  stir  the  heart! 
But  what  language  can  portray  it? 

And  it  mocks  the  power  of  art. 


124  ^    SPRING-DAY  RIDE. 


On  !  we  may  no  longer  tarry, 

For  the  way  is  long  to  trace 
Ere  we  reach  the  wondrous  fountain — 

Gentle  Health's  abiding-place. 
Now  our  roadway  windeth  upward 

Round  the  hillsides  stern  and  steep  ; 
Down  beneath  us  in  the  canons 

See  the  vernal  shadows  sleep  ; 
Here  thy  smiling  vale,  Las  Osos, 

Winds  *twixt  many  a  sheltering  slope, 
Where  the  waving  grain-fields'  promise 

Bids  the  sturdy  farmer  liope. 

Now  we  leave  where  man  is  master, 

Greeting  Nature's  reign  once  more. 
Where  the  river's  crystal  waters 

Murmur  by  its  flowery  shore  ; 
Here  where  trees  like  giant  warders 

Seem  to  guard  the  rugged  way ; 
Where  beneath  the  waters  flashing 

We  can  mark  the  fish  at  play; 
Where  the  ceanothus  blossoms 

And  the  laurel's  arms  are  spread, 
And  the  tasselled  plane-tree  mingles 

With  the  maple  overliead  ; 
Where  the  hills  rise  towering  o'er  us 

In  their  grandeur  rude  and  wild, 
And  the  heart  that  loves  their   beauty 

Turns  to  Him  whose  hand  has  piled 
Up  those  monuments  majestic, 

That  a  lesson  they  miglit  teach. 
Bidding  man  look  up  for  ever 

To  the  heavens  no  care  may  reach; 


A    SPRING-DAY  RIDE.  I  25 

And  the  pine-trees,  grand  and  gloomy, 

Chant  for  us  a  solemn  song, 
As  beneath  their  swaying  branches 

We  are  swiftly  borne  along. 
Joy  !  at  last  we  near  the  summit, 

And  the  longed-for  goal  is  won, 
As  above  us,  all  unclouded, 

Shines  tlie  glorious  noonday  gun. 
And  we  rest  beside  the  fountain 

Where  of  yore  the  savage  came 
With  his  wild,  weird  incantation 

To  the  mystic  god  of  flame  ; 
And  when  midnight  shadows  rested 

On  each   rugged,  tree-crowned  hill, 
Here  he  culled  the  herbs  whose  magic 

Was  a  balm  for  every  ill. 

And  may  we  not,  wiser  pilgrims, 

Pausing  thus  beside  the  spring, 
Raise  our  souls  in  mute  thanksgiving 

To  our  Maker  and  our  King, 
Whose  hand  raised  this  wondrous  fountain 

From  the  great  earth's  throbbing  heart. 
Gave  it  powers  strange  and  wondrous, 

Far  exceeding  human  art, 
That  the  wearied  and  the  drooping. 

And  tlie  sick  and  those  that  pine, 
Here  might  come  and  win  fresh  vigor 

From  this  pure,  health-giving  mine — 
Here  might  come  and  win  fresh  vigor 

From  the  mountain  breeze  that  sweeps, 
Laden  with  the  balmy  odors 

Of  the  wild-flowers  on  the  steeps, 


126  A    SPRING'DA  Y  RIDE, 


Where,  beyond  the  jar  and  trouble 

Of  the  busy  world  afar, 
They  may  look  unto  a  future 

Lighted  by  Hope's  silvery  star  ? 


A   MOTHER'S  LOVE, 


IT  is  not  like  youth's  affections, 
Blooming  early,  fading  soon, 
Or  the  love  that  poet-lovers 

Sing  in  sonnets  'neath  the  moon. 

It  is  holier,  deeper,  stronger 
Than  all  other  ties  of  earth  : 

'Tis  the  strong  guard  of  existence 
From  the  moment  of  our  birth  ; 

'Tis  the  light  that  cheers  our  childhood 
With  its  fond,  benignant  ray  ; 

'Tis  the  power  that  scatters  blessings 
Ever  round  our  youtliful  way; 

'Tis  the  charm  that  strengthens  manhood 
When  the  inmost  soul  is  stirred 

By  the  fury  of  the  passions. 

And  the  tempter's  voice  is  heard. 

Other  loves  will  fade  and  falter, 
Other  friends  will  flee  our  path 

When  the  demon  of  Misfortune 
'Whelms  us  in  a  sea  of  wrath. 

But  a  mother's  love  unflinching 
Passes  through  each  fiery  test  ; 

Day  succeeding  day  but  finds  it 
Glowing  brighter  in  her  breast. 

6*  137 


128  A   MOTHER'S  LOVE 

Day  succeeding  day  she  raises 
Unto  Heaven  her  earnest  prayer 

That  the  future  of  her  children 
May  be  free  from  sin  and  care. 

Mother!     What  a  charm  lies  hidden 
In  the  sound  of  that  dear  name 

Since  the  smiling  baby-lisper 
First  its  syllables  could  frame  ! 

Mother  ! — earliest,  sweetest  murmur 
Fashioned  by  the  infant's  lips  ; 

Mother  ! — last  word  man  will  falter 
When  death  holds  life  in  eclipse. 

*Tis  the  true  heart's  dearest  watchword, 
As  her  love  is  still  its  stay  ; 

*Tis  the  figure  given  to  mortals 
Of  our  F?.ther's  gentle  sway. 


WILD  FLOWERS. 


WITH  their  green  robes  folded  round  them, 
And  bright  chalices  dew-filled, 
They  are  standing  in  the  meadows 

Where  the  lark's  sweet  songs  are  trilled. 

They  are  clustering  on  the  hillside, 

They  are  blushing  in  the  glen, 
They  are  smiling  in  the  forest's  shade 

And  'mid  the  haunts  of  men. 

They  are  springing  by  the  roadside, 
Spite  of  trampling  feet  and  dust — 

Fragile  emblems  of  our  being, 
Of  our  human  hope  and  trust. 

I  have  marvelled  at  their  beauty. 

Gazing  on  them  day  by  day, 
Marking  meek-eyed  blossoms  open. 

Brighten,  bless,  and  pass  away. 

Looking  thus  with  love  upon   them, 

I  have  learned  their  story  well ; 
'Tis  the  same,  the  same  for  ever. 

That  the  sweet  wild-flow'rets  tell, 

Teaching  all  the  self-same  lesson 

Eire  they  pass  from  earth  away  : 
"  Mortal,  life  is  swiftly  speeding, 

And  death  comes  at  close  of  day. 

X39 


130  WILD  FLOWERS. 


"  Do  thy  duty  to  thy  neiglibor, 
Give  thy  worship  to  thy  God  ; 

He  will  lead  thee,  blest  and  happy, 
Where  the  just  before  thee  trod. 

''Feed  the  hungry,  clothe  the  naked, 
Bid  want-darkened  homes  grow  bright, 

Cheer  the  mourner  sitting  lonely. 
Make  the  laborer's  burden  light. 

"There  are  duties  waiting  on  thee, 
There  are  tasks  that  must  be  done; 

Speed  thee,  for  the  day  is  closing, 
And  the  mountains  near  the  sun. 

"  Speed  thee,  for  life's  spring  is  passing. 
And  God's  service  must  not  wait, 

If  thy  hands  would  clasp  the  guerdon 
Waiting  thee  beyond  Heaven's  gate." 

Thus  great  Nature's  poet-teachers 
Plead  with  mortals  day  by  day, 

Mingling  still  their  mute  appealing 
With  the  wild-bird's  warbled  lay. 

Thus  from  hillside  and  from  valley, 
And  from  forest  glade  and  glen, 

Still  the  sweet  flowers  lift  their  voices 
Hourly  to  the  sons  of  men  ; 

Waking  longings  for  the  beauty 
Of  the  land  beyond  the  skies, 

Glimpses  of  whose  charms  are  mirrored 
In  the  blossom's  lifted  eyes. 


OUR  ANGEL. 

ANNIE    MARGARET. 


ERE  one  short  summer  faded, 
Ere  one  short  year  had  told 
Its  chaplet  of  the  crowwed  months, 
Her  little  lieart  grew  cold. 

Marked  by  the  chrism  of  suffering, 

We  saw  our  darling  wait 
In  meek,  unmurmuring  patience 

Beside  the  Pearly  Gate, 

Until  the  pitying  Saviour 

Undid  pain's  cruel  band. 
And  angels  bore  her  through  the  morn 

To  Heaven's  unclouded  land  ; 

There,  'midst  its  shining  mansions, 
To  join  their  bands  who  sing 

For  ever  and  for  evermore 
Hosannas  to  the  King. 

And  there  in  fadeless  beauty, 
While  here  on  earth  we  roam, 

Our  angel  babe  is  waiting 

Her  loved  ones'  coming  home. 


A   WINTER  DA  Y. 


GREAT  waves  of  sunlight  all  our  land  are  flooding — 
Our  glorious  land,  so  verdant  and  so  fair, 
Where  peaceful  labor  o'er  the  scene  is  brooding, 
And  bird-songs  burden  all  the  balmy  air, 

As  if  in  prayer  yon  oaks  their  arms  are  lifting, 
Their  long  gray  tresses  floating  on  the  breeze ; 

Across  the  skies  white  clouds  are  slowly  drifting, 
And  comes  at  times  the  voice  of  distant  seas. 

From  nortli  to  south,  yea,  to  the  bounds  of  vision, 
We  gaze  on  naught  but  beauty's  perfect  lines — 

Vales  that  recall  the  fabled  fields  Elysian, 
And  dells  that  echo  to  the  singing  pines. 

Storm-swept,  but  scathless,  Santa  Anna  towers 
With  the  proud  monarchs  of  our  eastern  heights; 

And  westward,  redwood  forests,  home  of  flowers 
And  ferns  and  birds,  awaken  new  delights. 

The  lofty  mountain-sides  are  deeply  rifted 
With  lovely  glens  where  fairies  might  abide. 

Where  through  the  long,  long  summer  days  lie  drifted 
The  sweet  wild  blooms  above  the  stream's  clear  tide. 

And,  nestling  calmly  on  the  valley's  bosom, 
The  quiet  village  slumbers  in  the  sun — 

A  tiny  germ  that  yet  shall  bud  and  blossom 
When  Art  and  Labor  have  their  triumph  won. 
13a 


A    WINTER  DAY.  1 33 

Behold  how,  through  the  clear,  still  air  ascending, 
Blue  wreaths  of  smoke  from  many  hearths  arise, 

Higher  and  higher,  till  their  vapory  blending 
Is  lost  amid  the  azure  of  the  skies, 

Like  incense  rising  from  the  sacred  altar 

Of  homes  where  Peace  and  Plenty  ever  reign  ; 

For  who  is  there  with  trembling  tongue  can  falter 
Of  want-born  woe  upon  our  Western  plain, 

While  toil  can  wrest  from  out  the  valley's  bosom 
The  farmer's  wealth,  the  sheaves  of  golden  grain, 

And  the  great  orchards  burst  from  bud  to  blossom 
With  promise  of  the  autumn's  glittering  gain  ? 

Toil,  honest  toil — tlie  meed  is  worth  the  winning, 
The  joys  that  only  honest  labors  bring  ; 

Toil  and  be  hopeful  with  the  year's  beginning, 
And  its  glad  promise  of  a  glorious  spring. 

All,  all  is  peaceful  as  a  poet's  dreaming, 

This  peerless  day  so  wondrous  bright  and  mild; 

And  yet  beneath  this  emerald  banner  streaming 
We  hail  the  King  in  other  lands  so  wild. 

No  sound  of  discord  comes  to  mar  the  quiet, 

The  holy  quiet,  of  this  winter  scene, 
Save  when  the  chattering  blackbirds'  merry  riot 

Disturbs  the  woodland  solitudes  serene. 

Or  where  the  hungry  rooks  in  clouds  assemble 
To  scold  and  wrangle  o'er  the  new-turned  sod. 

But  hark  !  hark  how  the  air  is  all  a-tremble 
With  the  glad  hymn  the  lark  outpours  to  God. 


134  A    WINTER  DAY. 

Grant,  Heavenly  Father,  that  within  our  valley 
No  ruder  strains  may  in  the  future  rise  ; 

That  never  here  may  wake  War's  dreaded  rally, 
Nor  battle-smoke  bedim  these  azure  skies  ; 

And  that,  within  the  New  Year  spread  before  us, 
Our  feet  may  tread  the  path  thy  Saints  have  trod, 

And  thy  bright  angels  watching  ever  o'er  us 
Lead  us  in  safety  to  thy  home,  O  God  ! 


ro  I.  A.  L. 


IF  to  uplift  to  heights  of  purer  feeling 
Where  scenes  of  beauty  thrill  the  gazer's  sight, 
Heaven's  rays  that  linger  still  on  earth  revealing, 

Be  the  true  artist's  dream,  the  poet's  right, 
Well  hast  thou  proved  thyself  lord  of  that  art 
That  wakes  the  mystic  lyre^^the  human  heart. 

No  picture  on  thy  shining  canviis  glowing, 
No  scene  thy  pen's  inspired  power  portrays. 

But  mirrors  Truth's  celestial  fountain  flowing 

With  sparkling  waves  to  gladden  earth's  drear  ways, 

Telling,  in  numbers  thrilling  and  sublime. 

Tales  of  the  past,  tales  of  the  present  time. 

Thy  muse  hath  lured  us  to  Italian  waters 

Where  sunny  Naples  rules  her  fair  dominion, 

Or  shown  Spain's  valleys,  red  with  Moorish  slaughter 
Following  the  flight  of  thy  swift  fancy's  pinion  : 

The  wealth  of  courts,  the  low  moan  of  the  dying. 

And  the  sad  prodigal  in  silence  sighing.  • 

Thus  guided  through  the  mazes  of  transition, 
Our  spirits  bowed  beneath  the  spell  divine  ; 

Amid  the  grandeur  of  the  Recognition 
See  !  Right  triumphant  over  Error  shine, 

And  like  the  echo  of  exultant  song 

The  paeans  of  the  victory  prolong. 
13s 


136  TO  I.  A.  L. 


Not  here  the  guerdon  of  such  faithful  labor, 
Save  in  sweet  gratitude  ;   but,  soaring  higher, 

The  fragrance  of  thy  good  works  for  thy  neighbor 
Will  shine  illumined  with  celestial  fire, 

Within  whose  deathless  radiance  behold 

Thy  name  upon  Fame's  shining  scroll  enrolled. 


TEN   YEARS  AGO. 


DO  I  forget  this  week  ten  years  ago  ? 
Nay,  dearest,  I  remember, 
Clearly  as  yesterday,  the  light  and  glow 
Of  that  far-off  September  : 

How  shone  the  landscape  'neath  the  subtle  dyes, 
The  gold  and  azure  of  the  summer's  weaving. 

The  rounded  capes  that  cut  the  valley's  sea, 

And  on  the  hills  the  pine  harp's  note  of  grieving  ; 

The  white-armed  plane-trees,  in  the  mirage  blue. 
Like  giant  spectres  seemed  to  bend  and  quiver, 

Held  in  the  deep  and  voiceless  Sabbath  calm 
Upon  the  margin  of  the  sun-dried  river  ; 

And  on  the  eastern  slope  a  guardian  fair — 
The  cross-crowned  chapel  in  its  holy  quiet, 

Standing  within  "  God's  Acre,"  where  the  dead 
Slept  sweetly  in  their  dreamless  slumber  by  it. 

And  there  we  parted.     Memory  loves  to  dwell 
On  that  last  parting,  though  the  wound  is  aching 

Freshly  as  when  the  cherished  dreams  of  youth 
Fled  in  the  fond  farewell  that  thou  wert  taking. 

I  look  around  on  hill  and  valley  now : 

Thy  name  to  me  is  linked  with  all  their  beauty  ; 

Dwells  not  a  vision  of  their  charms  with  thee 
Amid  thy  tranquil  life  of  love  and  duty? 
137 


138  TEN   YEARS  AGO. 

For  through  each  lovely  scene  our  feet  have  trod, 
As  side  by  side  in  bright  spring-tides  we  wandered 

Where  floral  treasures  o'er  the  vale  were  flung, 
Or  dark  oak  isles  the  blooming  billows  sundered. 

No  more  they  seem  the  same,  the  glad,  the  free, 
Although  no  beauty  with  the  years  departed  ; 

Earth  is  unchanged — only  to  human  hearts 

Comes   grief  when    those   who    loved   for  life   are 
parted  ; 

Parted  to  tread  through  different  ways  below 

Our  paths  of  life,  which  to  one  goal  are  tending  : 

For  all  our  hopes  are  centred  in  that  home 
Whose  summer  never  knows  a  dreary  ending. 

All  unforgotten  are  the  years  that  rest 

Beyond  that  week  within  that  far  September 

And  those  that  lie  between  that  hour  and  this  : 
All  thoughts  of  thee  most  fondly  I  remember. 

September  10,  1875. 


IHE  OLD  ADOBE  HOUSE. 


DARK  and  desolate,  drear  and  still, 
Under  the  shade  of  the  rocky  hill, 
Years  have  passed  since  its  builders  trod 
The  flowery  green  of  the  valley  sod  : 
Years  have  passed  since  its  old  walls  rang 
To  the  merry  strains  by  glad  voices  sang, 
When  genial  pleasure  and  social  mirth 
Sat  in  the  glow  of  its  lighted  hearth. 
And  hospitality's  open  hand 
Welcomed  the  wanderers  from  every  land. 
Now  the  moss  of  age  on  its  walls  is  gray  ; 
It  has  owned  the  power  of  thy  touch,  Decay  ; 
And,  dark  and  desolate,  drear  and  cold, 
It  is  crumbling  fast  to  the  valley  mould. 

Yet,  could  its  old  walls  find  a  tongue 
To  echo  the  strains  that  within  them  rung, 
What-tales  it  might  tell  of  the  poet's  lay. 
Of  the  warrior  resting  after  the  fray  ! 
What  tales  of  the  dreams  that  at  night  would  come 
To  the  weary  exiles  from  friends  and  home, 
Sick  of  their  search  after  wealth  untold 
In  the  darksome  caves  of  the  yellow  gold  ! — 
For  rest  and  shelter  were  ne'er  denied 
When  sought  in  that  home  by  the  lone  hillside. 
Perchance  they  would  breathe  of  the  words  of  prayer 
That  throbbed  each  eve  through  the  balmy  air, 
When  angels  the  azure  archway  trod 
To  bear  them  up  to  the  Throne  of  God. 
139 


140        THE   OLD  ADOBE  HOUSE. 

Or  the  old  oak-trees  that  above  it  lean, 

Twining  through  summer  their  leafy  screen, 

Might  whisper,  in  accents  soft  and  low, 

Some  sweet  love-tale  of  the  long-ago — 

Some  silvery  echo^  faint  and  far, 

Heard  here  when  the  light  of  the  evening-star 

Shone  softly  down  on  the  tranquil  scene, 

On  tlie  silent  vale  and  the  forest  green  ; 

When  earnest  lover  and  blushing  maid 

Walked  to  and  fro  in  the  vernal  shade — 

For  here  hearts  quickened  and  eyes  burned  bright, 

And  Cupid  ruled  with  his  rod  of  might. 

And  the  bridal  feast  in  tliat  home  has  been  spread 

Where  Ruin  now  keeps  her  vigil  dread. 

Ay,  Ruin  rules  in  the  homestead  gray 

Where  the  road  winds  southward  to  Monterey, 

And  proud  El  Toro  in  silence  towers 

A  sentinel  over  this  vale  of  ours — 

A  sentinel  grim  over  glen  and  wold, 

Over  broad  plains  wrapped  in  tlieir  cloth  of  gold, 

Over  forests  where  wild,  weird  harpings  swell 

When  the  breeze  strikes  the  lyre  of  the  Moronel, 

Where  the  flitting  shadows  dance  and  play. 

And  the  sad  dove  moans  at  the  close  of  day  ; 

And  his  echoes  answer  witli  trumpet-blast 

When  the  fire-fed  steed  with  a  neigh  sweeps  past 

On  its  pathway  which  bindeth  mart  to  mart 

Witii  an  iron  band  through  the  valley's  heart. 

Dark  and  desolate,  drear  and  cold. 
And  crumbling  fast  to  its  native  mould, 
The  old  house  stands  in  its  ruin  grim  ; 
But  it  has  memories  time  cannot  dim — 


THE   OLD  ADOBE  HOUSE. 


141 


Memories  whose  treasured  balos  crown 

The  lonely  home  by  the  hillside  brown  ; 

Memories  whose  golden  links  are  cast 

To  bind  the  present  unto  the  past : 

A  chain  by  a  grateful  genius  wrought 

Of  many  a  tender  and  kindly  .thought, 

Of  deeds  whose  blessings  will  with  us  stay 

Though  the  generous  doers  have  passed  away 

And  sleep  where  the  tangled  grasses  wave 

And  the  wild-flowers  droop  o'er  each  silent  grave. 


TO  F.  DE  C.  M, 


WAVERLEY. 


1  CLOSE  the  Poet's  volume,  but  my  fancy  • 
Doth  still  the  theme  pursue  ; 
Before  me  shine  the  pictures  which  the  Author 
In  matchless  beauty  drew. 

Around  me  rise  no  more  our  Western  mountains, 

No  more  our  vales  extend  ; 
But  down  through  rushing  glens  the  leaping  torrents 

From  Scotia's  hills  descend. 

The  sound  of  waves  in  wintry  anger  breaking 

Upon  these  shores  of  gold 
Seem  but  the  echo  of  stern  battle's  thunders 

O'er  fields  of  carnage  rolled. 

I  hear  the  angry  clash  of  crossing  sabres, 

I  mark  the  arrow's  flight, 
The  charging  lancers,  and  the  deaf'ning  clamor 

Of  cries  that  cheer  the  fight. 

Yonder  the  setting  sun's  last  ray  just  touches 

The  claymore's  dripping  blade, 
As  the  fierce  forces  of  the  victors  follow 

The  vanquished  down  the  glade. 
142 


TO  F,   DE   C.    M. 


43 


Or,  as  the  winds  wail  through  the  leafless  branches, 

I  seem  to  hear  tlie  cry, 
The  bitter  coronach,  of  grief  ascending 

Towards  the  eveninj^  sky — 

Such  strains  as  filled  the  air  with  keenest  anguish 

Beside  Locli  Katrine's  wave 
When  Rob  Roy's  Helen  raised  the  notes  of  sorrow 

For  Rob,  her  captured  brave. 

Now  from  the  fields  of  carnage  shifts  the  vision  : 

I  see  the  bright  lamps  shine 
In  old  baronial  iialls,  their  lights  reflected 

From  golden  cups  of  wine, 

Where  lordly  knights  and  stately  dames  are  feasting, 

While  sweetly  to  the  ear 
Are  borne  the  minstrel's  songs  of  love  and  conquest 

To  Scottish  hearts  most  dear. 

The  picture  changes.     Spreading  now  before  me 

I  see  the  good  green  wood 
Beneath  whose  boughs  so  often  were  assembled 

The  band  of  Robin  Hood — 

Bold  men,  who  made  their  lances  hold  their  tenure, 

But  whom  the  author  draws 
As  heroes  still,  despite  the  daily  breaking 

Of  England's  royal  laws. 

No  more  to  ruin  and  to  ivy  given 

Proud  Leicester's  castle  lies. 
But  hall  and  lake  and  lawn  with  pomp  are  glowing 

To  please  his  monarch's  eyes  ; 


144  ^^  ^'  ^^  ^-  ^' 


While  he,  false-hearted,  stooping  for  her  favor 

And  kneeling  to  her  grace, 
Must  in  his  heart  be  haunted  by  the  murder 

And  wrong  of  Cumnor  Place. 

So  through  the  wild  and  wondrous  realms  of  fancy 

I  follow,  musing  still 
Upon  the  Poet  whose  skilled  hand  hath  left  us 

These  gems  of  heath  and  hill. 

And  while  his  power  the  present  charms  and  pleases, 

I  bless  thy  generous  hand, 
And  pray  thy  hours  with  pleasure  may  be  freighted 

While  journeying  tlirough  the  land. 


BRIDAL  WISHES. 


ANGELS  of  love  and  duty 
Upon  their   path  attend, 
In  perfect  bliss  uniting 
Their  spirits  till  the  end. 

And  Peace,  sweet  household  darling, 

Their  guardian  spirit  be, 
With  gentle  influence  moulding 

Their  lives  through  days  of  glee. 

And,  Faith,  when  sorrow's  billows 

Around  about  them  roll. 
Keep  thou  in  fadeless  beauty 

Thy  taper  in  each  soul, 

Till,  crowned  with  life's  best  blessings, 
Home,  happiness,  and  love, 

Their  lives  may  mirror  back  the  light 
Of  cloudless  realms  above. 
145 


POEM, 


THE  decades  of  the  years  are  thrice  told  o'er 
In  blessings  manifold 
Since  first  Columbia  as  a  daughter  hailed 
Our  cherished  "  Land  of  Gold  " : 

Our  land,  which  on  the  broad  Pacific's  shore 

Arose  the  first-born  State ; 
Our  land,  whose  name   is  known  throughout  the 
world 

As  beautiful  and  great. 

Hers  was  no  long  probationary  term 

Of  Territorial  school, 
But,  like  Minerva  from  the  brow  of  Jove, 

She  sprang  full-armed  to  rule  • 

Armed  with  the  power  of  her  untold  wealth, 

Glories  of  hill  and  lea, 
A  queen  of  beauty,  love  and  light,  and  song. 

Enthroned  beside  the  sea. 

Her  mighty  mountains'  giant  hearts  are  veined 

With  glittering  yellow  ore  : 
The  proud  commercial  navies  of  the  world 

Bring  tribute  to  her  shore. 

Her  valleys  in  their  fertile  beauty  vie 

,    With  the  Elysian  Fields  ; 

Her  vineyards,  pouring  out  their  purple  blood, 

Wine  of  Olympus  yields. 
146 


POEM.  147 


But  not  alone  of  treasures  such  as  these 

Is  California's  boast ; 
Nay,  dearer  far  she  holds  the  valiant  men 

Who  first  explored  her  coast ; 

Who  broke  the  seal  that  held  with  magic  power 

Her  hidden  wealth  so  long, 
And  sped  its  golden  current  o'er  the  world, 

A  torrent  deep  and  strong. 

Theirs  was  no  journey  of  luxurious  ease 

Who  dared  the  toils  and  pains 
Of  the  long  journey  round  the  stormy  cape, 

Or  roadway  o'er  the  plains. 

The  Rocky  Mountains'  rugged  barrier  frowned 

Defiance  on  their  way, 
The  wild  Sierra's  terrors  vainly  strove 

To  keep  their  hosts  at  bay. 

Though  many  perished  in  the  dark  defiles 

Or  'neath  the  ocean's  waves  ; 
Though  the  wide  prairies'  billowy  hillocks  marked 

The  pilgrims'  lonely  graves ; 

Though  Darien's  fever  slew  with  burning  breath, 

Still  fearlessly  they  came, 
And  on  the  annals  of  our  country  traced 

In  noble  deeds  each  name.  * 

From  the  i^rimeval  wilderness  they  gave 

Our  star  to  crown  thy  brow, 
Mother  of  Heroes  !  and  with  them  we  hail 

Thy  glorious  Birthday  now. 


148  POEM, 


With  them  we  hail  thee,  as  their  children  should, 

With  them  thy  name  we  breathe ; 
'Twas  they  first  tauglit  our  childish  lips  and  hearts 

Love's  flowers  for  thee  to  wreathe. 

And  bade  us  honor  the  great  men  who  stood 

In  battle  for  thy  cause, 
And  the  wise  statesmen  who  so  well  have  framed 

Thy  grand,  thy  matchless  laws. 

And  while  above  us  floats  the  dear  old  flag, 

The  banner  of  the  free, 
With  joyous  lips  and  loyal  hearts  we  pledge 

Fidelity  to  thee ; 

Vowing  to  love  thee  with  unfaltering  love, 

Our  Mother  dear  and  fair, 
And  make  thy  weal  through  all  the  future  hours 

Our  every  thought  and  care  ; 

To  walk  with  honor  in  the  paths  of  right 

Our  great  forefathers  trod, 
And  serve  untiringly  with  hand  and  heart 

Our  Country  and  our  God. 


GILROY  HOT  SPRINGS, 


HIGH  up  upon  the  mountain's  breast 
A  nook  of  wondrous  beauty  lies, 
A  temple  of  the  goddess  Rest, 

Arched  by  the  cloudless  summer  skies — 

A  temple  of  the  goddess  Rest, 

A  shrine  where  Health  her  goblet  fills, 

And  pledges  with  unfailing  zest 
The  pilgrims  to  the  leafy  hills. 

Through  all  its  shadowy  aisles  there  floats 
The  music  of  the  wild  birds'  song, 

And  echo  treasures  up  its  notes 
In  cadence  tremulous  but  strong. 

Close  hidden  by  the  sheltering  trees, 

The  laughing  brooklet  winds  and  falls  ; 
Answering  the  calling  of  the- breeze, 
.    Glides  swiftly  down   the  rocky  walls. 

All  sounds  that  Nature's  lone  haunts  fill 
Rise  on  the  air,  and  faint,  and  fail ; 

And  comes  at  times  in  accents  shrill  ^ 

The  quaint  "Que  es  eso  ? "  of  the  quail. 

Here  Spring  her  rarest  garlands  twines. 
And  Summer  lingers,  loath  to  part. 

Till  all  the  murmurings  of  the  pines 
Seem  moanings  from  her  breaking  heart. 
149 


150  GILROY  HOT  SPRINGS. 

The  fern  its  fairy  forest  rears 

Along  the  hills  in  brightest  green, 

And  blushingly  the  wild  rose  dares 
On  many   a  rugged  height  be  seen. 

The  Virgin's  Bower  bending  swings 
Its  snowy  blossoms  o'er  the  way, 

A  bridal-wreath  to  which  still  clings 
The  fragrance  of  the  perished   May. 

Here  the  glad  blood  responsive  leaps 
Along  the  veins  with  quickening  thrills, 

When  wakes  the  joyous  breeze  that  sweeps 
The  wind-harp  of  the  mighty  hills — 

The  wind-harp  of  the  hills,  which  takes 
The  voicing  of  that  solemn  strain 

Sung  where  the  great  waves  rise  and  break 
Upon  the  boundaries  of  the  main. 

As  though  some  echoes  lingered  here 
Of  Winter's  message  fierce  and  free. 

Sent  up,  on  wings  of  storm  and  fear, 
From  the  broad   bosom  of  the  sea. 

O  fair,  wild  spot  with  beauty  crowned  ! 

Long  tower  thy  voiceful  oaks  and  pines, 
Where,  guardians  of  thy  charmed  bound, 

They  quaff  the  morning's  dewy  wines. 

Long  may  their  shadows  fall  to  bless 
The  weary  ones  that  seek  their  shade, 

A  blessing  like  a  love-caress 

Upon  their  heated  foreheads  laid  ! 


SONNET. 


TO    A. 


A  SUMMER  day  in  languid  beauty  died; 
Night  came  with  glittering  jewels  on  her  brow  ; 
No  breezes  swept  the  fragrance  from  the  bough 
Impearled  with  starry  jasmine  blooms,  or  hied 
Eager  to  kiss  the  agave's  crown  of  pride 
'Mid  humbler  blossoms  in  the  garden  near, 
Cleaving  the  air  to  seek  a  loftier  sphere 
O'er  which  to  fling  its  fragrance  far  and  wide  ; 
Lingering  together  while  each  silvery  star 
On  cloudless  azure  in  deep  brilliance  shone, 
Mingling  with  music's  notes  floating  afar, 
Bearing  sweet  promise  in  its  tender  tone  : 
Earnestly  beautiful  the  "  Gates  Ajar  " 
Thrilled  from  thy  heart  and  made  the  hour  its  own. 


THE  MARTYRS  OF  MEMPHIS, 


TWINE  ye  bright  and  fadeless  laurels 
For  our  martyrs  one  and  all, 
But  the  brightest  and   tlie  fairest 

For  the  Daughters  of  De  Paul — 
For  the  pure  and  valiant  Sisters 

Who,  obeying  God's  behest, 
Dared  the  plague,  with  all   its  terrors, 
In  the  suffering  South   and  West. 

When  the  weakest  fell  to  perish. 

And  the  strongest  fled  away, 
They  remained  to  soothe   the   dying 

And   beside  the  dead  to  pray — 
Ministers  of  heavenly   comfort. 

Angels  lent  to  earth  awhile, 
With  their  loving  care  to  brighten 

Scenes  of  sorrow,   pain,   and  guile. 

Never  steel-girt  heroes  leading 

Armed  cohorts  to  the   front. 
Cheered  by  sounds  of  martial  music 

To  the  onset's  dreaded  brunt — 
Never  in   their  fiery  bosoms 

Thrilled  such  courage  pure  and  grand 
As  hath  nerved   to   deeds  heroic 

These  meek  daughters  of  our  land. 

For  the  warriors  sought   their  guerdon 
In  the  world's  applause  and  praise, 

In  the  wild,  tumultuous  cheering 
When  along  the  public  ways 
15a 


,       THE  MARTYRS  OF  MEMPHIS.  1 53 

Tlironged  the  people  glad  and  eager, 
Crying:  "Welcome!  welcome  home! 

Welcome  !  welcome  to  the  victors  !  " 
Thrilling   to  the  azure  dome. 

But  the  Daughters  of  Saint  Vincent 

Sought  no  fleeting  earthly  meed, 
As  they  bent  above  the  sufferers 

In  their  hour  of  sorest  need; 
When  they  saw  the  Plague-King  smiting 

Old  and  young  around  their  way, 
Following  in  our  dear  Lord's  footsteps, 

Nobly  wrought  they  day  by  day. 

And  while  pain-wrung  lips  in  anguish 

One  fond,  grateful  prayer  could  frame, 
Did  their  dying  accents  falter 

Blessings  on  the  Sisters'  name — 
Blessings  on  their  lives  whose  guerdon 

In  a  heavenly  land  is  won; 
There  the  angel-hosts  have  borne  them, 

There  the  Saviour  says  :  "  Well  done  !^"^*. 

Faithful  servants  of  the  Saviour, 

Valiant  soldiers  of  the  Cross, 
O'er  their  graves  a  mourning  nation 

Bitterly  laments  her  loss  ; 
And  when  her  true  heart  will  number 

The  brave  ones  she  loves  the  best. 
Reverently  her  love  will  cherish 

The  pure  Martyrs  of  the  West. 

*  "  Sisters  of  Charity,  with  their  usual  unselfishness,  watched  beside  the 
sick  and  ministered  to  the  dying  ;  fearless  of  death,  though  death  spared 
them  not," -H.  B, 


RAIN. 


QATING  all  the  thirsty  meadows, 
O  Weeping  o'er  the  fallen  leaves, 
Dancing  on  the  cottage  roof-tree, 

Leaping  downward  from,  the  eaves — 
All  day  long  the  glad  rain-spirits 

Sang  tiieir  songs  so  blithe  and   free, 
And  the  wild  Pacific's  surges 

Echoed  back  their  notes  of  glee  : 

"  Welcome  us  from  out  the  regions 

Which  the  hazy  mist  enshrouds, 
For  we  bring  you,  sons  of  mortals. 

The  best  vintage  of  the  clouds  : 
All  the  treasures  we  have  garnered 

Through  tlie  season's  shade  and  shine — 
Plenty  for  the  barren  valleys, 

Life-blood  for  the  drooping  vine. 
Dainty  hues  for  fairy  blossoms. 

Crimson  for  the  rose's  cheek. 
Songs  of  joy,  all  songs  excelling 

Whicii  the  earth's  great  heart  shall  speak  ; 
Quelling  all  the  bitter  murmurings 

That  along  the  calm  air  thrills. 
Pouring  out  the  oil  of  gladness 

On  our  young  land's  thousand  hills." 
154 


SAIN. 


155 


Thus  the  rain-drops  sang  their  anthems 

O'er  the  vale's  autumnal  woe, 
While  the  winter  crowned  the  mountains 

With  a  bridal-wreath  of  snow  ; 
And  a  voice  of  warm  thanksgiving 

Swept  along  tlie  western  plain, 
Thanking  God,  o'er  all  his  bounties, 

For  the  blessing  of  the  rain. 


lERNIAN. 


HO  !  brothers  by  mountain  and  moorland, 
Bold  brothers  by  river  and  sea, 
Are  ye  true  to  the  oath  that  ye  plighted 

When  ye  vowed  our  fair  land  should  be  free  ? 

Have  ye  cherished  her  love  as  a  mother's 

Is  cherished  by  children  most  dear  ? 
Have  ye  walked  in  the  paths  that  our  fathers 

Trod  aye  without  faltering  or  fear, 

While  they  sang  in  bold  strains  their  glad  anthems 

Far-sounding,  exultant,  and  free — 
The  praise  of  our  own  Mother  Erin, 

Discrowned,  but  still  Queen  of  the  Sea  ? 

Have  ye  stanched  all  your  red  feuds,  O  brothers  ? 

Linked  in  friendship  each  clan  unto  clan. 
That  when  Ireland  shall  summon  her  children 

They  will  answer  her  call  to  a  man  ? 

For  no  blessings  can  rest  on  our  armies, 

No  foemen  before  us  will  yield. 
Till  all  hatred  and  rancor  are  vanquished 

And  Union  is  graved  on  our  shield.     ' 

Have  ye  proved  that  the  patriot  pulses 

Which  throbbed  through  the  hearts  of  our  sires 

Still  quicken  your  soul  into  action 
With  the  glow  of  their  heroic  fires  ? 
156 


lERNIAN. 


157 


For  ye  know  on  the  brow  of  the  valiant 
Shall  the  crown  of  the  victor  descend, 

And  a  nation's  thanksgiving  will  hallow 
His  name  who  is  true  to  the  end. 

But  woe  to  the  traitor  who,  turning 

Away  from  the  teachings  of  old. 
Shall  barter  his  high  hopes  of  freedom 

For  cliains  that  are  burnished  with  gold. 

To  him  will  come  days  full  of  sorrow, 
And  nights  that  are  drear  with  unrest. 

For  the  curse  of  a  down-trodden  nation 
Shall  press  its  dead  weight  on  his  breast. 

But  to  you  who  are  faithful  the  children 

Of  Erin  cry  out  o'er  the  waves ; 
Oil  !  the  sharp,  sullen  clank  of  their  fetters 

Miglit  waken  the  dead  in  their  graves  ! 

They  call  upon  you,  O  my  brothers  ! 

By  the  rights  you  have  sworn  to  regain ; 
They  plead  by  their  long  years  of  anguish, 

Frauglit  with  pestilence,  famine,  and  pain. 

Then  answer  them  quickly  and  truly  ; 

Let  the  blue  skies  re-echo  the  cheer 
That  will  ring  from  their  hearts  when  they  hear][that 

The  day  of  deliverance  is  near. 

God  hasten  the  day  when  our  banner's 
Green  folds  will  float  free  on  the  air, 

And  joy's  smiling  power  will  have  banished 
The  memory  of  years  of  despair  ; 


158  lERNIAN, 


When  the  heather-crowned  hills  of  lerne 

Will  answer  exulting  and  free 
To  the  praise  of  our  own  beauteous  Mother, 

Crowned  by  freedom  as  Queen  of  the  Sea  ! 


SONNET. 


MAY  blessings  rest  upon  thy  youthful  liead, 
And  Pleasure  walk  beside  thee  ;  hand-in-hand 
Repose  and  Peace  thy  guardian  spirits  stand  ; 
Youth's  genial  charm  around  thy  pathway  spread, 
And  friends  be  true  where'er  thy  footsteps  tread  ; 
No  heart-frosts  ever  chill  life's  sunny  glow, 
No  heavy  cross  thy  portion  here  below  ; 
Each  day  new  graces  o'er  thy  spirit  shed, 
Making  tliy  future  as  a  flower  that  blooms 
Under  the  fervid  glow  of  southern  skies. 
Rich  in  its  wealth  of  beauty  and  perfumes  : 
Peerless  in  all  that  charms  thy  Maker's  eyes. 
Holiest  of  blossoms  from  the  vernal  glooms, 
Yet — sweetest  grace  ! — its  beauty  never  dies. 
159 


IRELAND'S  APPEAL, 

DECEMBER,    1879. 


1CALL  upon  you,  my  children — 
I  call,  and  oh  !  not  in  vain 
Shall  the  winds  of  the  winter  bear  you 
The  wail  of  your  Mother's  pain. 

For,  given  of  the  generous  bounty 

Of  the  land  which  you  now  callj^home, 

In  the  hour  of  my  direst  anguish 
Came  over  the  ocean's  foam 

Brave  ships  that  were  richly  laden, 
And  out  of  whose  stores  were  fed 

The  stricken  ones  o'er  whose  anguish 
My  heart  in  wild  woe  had  bled. 

O  ye  whom  my  old  arms  sheltered 
And  clasped  to  my  loving  breast  ! 

Think  of  your  sorrowing  Mother 
In  the  Island  of  the  West. 

For  again  o'er  the  hills  of  Mayo, 
In  the  chilly,  sweeping  blast. 

With  her  train  of  ghastly  horrors 
Has  the  spectre  Famine  passed. 

All  up  through  that  desolate  border 
They  shrink  from  her  step's  swift  fall, 

And  soon  will  her  court  hold  revel 
In  the  cabins  of  Donegal. 


IRELAND'S  APPEAL.  l6l 

Ye  who  are  housed  in  comfort, 

Who  are  clothed  and  served  and  fed, 

Think  of  the  poor  and  the  naked 
Who  hunger  and  cry  for  bread. 

Think  of  the  cold,  bleak  winter. 

The  pitiless,  falling  rain, 
Of  the  famine-stricken  gathering 

Round  the  fireless  hearth  in  vain  : 

For  the  turf  in  the  bog  lies  sodden. 

And  little  for  warmth  remains, 
Save  the  fever  whose  kindling  torches 

Are  firing  the  sufferers'  veins. 

When  music  is  thrilling  around  you. 
And  your  homes  are  bright  with  cheer 

In   the  light  of  the  New  Year's  dawning. 
Think  of  my  children  here. 

God,  who   has  blessed  your  harvests 

And  given  you  gold  in  store. 
Who  led  you,  my  cherished  exiles, 

To  a  fair  and  plenteous  shore — 

God  move  your  hearts  to  pity 
The  wants  of  your  brethren  here. 

And  speed  to  their  darkened  dwellings 
The  aid  which  will  bring  them  cheer : 

The  aid  whicli  will  win  you  blessings 

An   hundred  thousand  fold, 
And  open  to  you  the  City 

Whose  streets  are  paved  with   gold  ! 


TO  ERIN, 

SORROWING    FOR    HER    PRIEST,  PATRIOT,  AND  ORATOR, 
REV.  THOMAS   N.  BURKE,  O.P. 


OERIN,  Mother  Erin,  dark  is  thy  day  of  sorrow  ! 
Thy  bravest  and  thy  noblest,  thy  truest  and  thy 
best, 
He  who  from  Heaven's  own  fountains  such  burning 
words  could  borrow 
To   paint   thy  ancient  glory,   lies   dead    upon    thy 
breast. 

For  thee  he  lived  and  labored,  for  thee  his  voice  was 
lifted 
In  deep,  soul-stirring  accents,  in  thunder-tones  of 
might. 
Whene'er  he  spoke,  as  vapor  by  the  swift  north  wind 
is  drifted, 
Fled  the  darkening  clouds  of  ignorance  and  dawned 
the  welcome  light. 

How  our  eager  spirits  kindled   'neath  his  words  of 
fervid  power 
When  he  told  with  patriot  rapture  thy  joys  of  long 
ago; 
Or,  turning  to  the  present,  robbed  of  all  thy  priceless 
dower, 
He  pictured  thee.  Beloved,  in  thy  agony  and  woe. 


TO  ERIN.  163 


Oh  !  his  stirring  strains  of  eloquence  have  rung  the 
wide  earth  over, 
Where'er   thy  exiled   children   have  pitched  their 
tents,  and  long 
They  will   bear  within    their  bosoms,  like  the  fond 
words  of  a  lover, 
The  warm,  impassioned  breathings  that  have  thrilled 
them  as  a  song. 

Better  far  than  earthly  guerdon,  than  gold  or  laurels 
crowning 
The  proud  brow  of  the  conqueror,  the  hero,  or  the 
sage. 
Is  the  faithful  love  they  gave  him  when  from  False- 
hood's forehead  frowning 
He  rent  the  veil  and  taught  men  thy  true  place  on 
History's  page. 

In  thy  cause  he  never  faltered,  his  courage  was  un- 
daunted ; 
His  fidelity  was  proven  in  a  tiiousand  trying  ways  ; 
He  fought  the  vulture  Famine  and  its  countless  train 
that  haunted 
Thy  mountains  and  thy  valleys  for  so  many  dreary 
days. 

He  fought  the  vulture  Famine — yea,  his  latest  breath 
was  given 
For  the  sake  of  thy  dear  children,  the  wan  babies 
at  thy  knee ; 
He   heard    their   voices   calling,    even    as    thy   great 
Apostle 
Heard  the  wailing  of  thy  infants,  and  he  gave  his 
life  for  thee. 


164  TO  ERIN. 


The  Angel  stilled  his  gentle  heart,  with  purest  fervor 
glowing  ; 
He  died  as  heroes  love  to  die,  his  ready  lance  in 
rest. 
No  wonder  that  such  sorrow  all   the   earth  is  over- 
flowing 
With  sighing  and  with  mourning  for  the  Priest  so 
loved  and  blessed. 

True  child  of  great  Saint  Dominic,  whose  sons,  white- 
robed  and  glorious. 
Watered  with  their  blood   tliy  valleys   in   the   sad 
days  long  ago, 
Lo  !  they  stand  before  the  Saviour  with  their  martyr 
palms,  victorious. 
Giving  greeting  to  their  brother  who  so  well  defied 
thy  foe — 

Giving  greeting  to  their  brother,  Priest,  Patriot,  and 
Hero, 
Crowned  alike  with  earthly  homage  and  the  glory 
of  the  just, 
With  thy  love,  warm  and  undying,  with  thy  gratitude 
endearing. 
Yielding  back  to  Him  who  gave  it  his  life's  most 
precious  trust. 

Wail  !  wail  !  O  Mother  Erin  !  above  thy  lion-hearted, 
Thy  son  whose  mind  was  lofty  as  the  eagle's  soar- 
ing flight. 
Whose  lips  unto  thy  children  wise  counsel  e'er  im- 
parted, 
And  urged  them  ever  onward  in  the  paths  of  truth 
and  right. 


TO  ERIN.  165 


Faith,  Hope,  and  gentle  Charity  will  watch  above  his 
slumber : 
In  his  life  a  living  mirror  of  Faith  and  Hope  we  see, 
While   in   the  cause   of  Charity   we  vainly  strive    to 
number 
All  the  labors  that  he  fondly  wrought,  dear  Mother- 
land, for  thee. 

Sweet  is  the  rest  God-given  to  thy  laborer  on  his  mis- 
sion. 
Thy  true   and   faithful   Shepherd   of  the   Master's 
precious  fold  ; 
And  blessed  his  glorious  guerdon,  the  beatific  vision 
Of  the  Saviour  'tis  his  happy  lot  in  Heaven  to  be- 
hold. 

Mother  of  noble  children  !     O  sorrowing  Queen  of 
Sorrow  ! 
Another  name  is  added  to  thy  roll  of  saints  to-day, 
Another  son  is  pleading  that  for  thee  a  near  to-mor- 
row 
May  usher  in  the   dawning  of  a  brighter,  happier 
day 


UNFORGOTTEN. 


IN  fading  leaves  and  blossoms, 
'Neath  briglit  autumnal  skies, 
The  memories  of  past  moments 

Again  before  me  rise. 
Thy  presence  lingers  near  me 

In  each  familiar  spot  ; 
Thougli  many  miles  divide  us, 
Thou  hast  not  been  forgot. 

When  Spring  with  fragrant  blossoms 

Comes  smiling  down  the  vale, 
When  Summer's  golden  mantle 

Floats  on  tlie  languid  gale, 
AVhere  through  fay-haunted  canons 

The  rippling  streamlets  glide, 
I  muse  on  bygone  moments 

When  thou  wert  by  my  side. 

Each  lowly  hillside  blossom 

AVith   pearly  tears  bedewed. 
The  fern-leaves*  fairy  tracery 

O'er  rocky  barriers  strewed, 
The  pine's  low  voice  of  grieving, 

The  poplar's  whispering  leaves, 
Are  eloquent  of  rambles 

Through  balmy  Sabbath  eves. 

1 66 


UN  FORGO  T  TEN.  1 6  7 


And  when  the  winds  come  rushing 

From  Winter's  icy  throne, 
And  far  in  rustling  eddies 

The  fallen  leaves  are  blown, 
As  in  the  olden  chimney 

I  watch  the  red  flames  glow, 
I  dream  of  winter  evenings 

Lost  in  the  long-ago. 

I  know  the  hopes  we  cherish 

Tend  to  the  same  bright  goal — 
The  land  where  grief  or  parting 

May  never  reach  the  soul ; 
And  though  long  miles  divide   us. 

Whatever   be  my  lot, 
Through  all  my  life  I'll  cherish 

Thy  sweet  "  Forget-me-not." 


"GLIMPSES  OF  THE  SUPERNATURAL:' 


LEGENDS  o'er  which  to  dream 
When  all  the  golden  west, 
Forest  and  hill  and  stream, 

In  twilight  beauty  drest, 
Fragrant  with  breath  of  flowers, 

A  dream  of  beauty  lies, 
Watching  through  passing  hours 
Her  star-illumined  skies  ; 

When  all  we  hold  most   dear 

Lies  nearer  to  the    heart, 
When  care  and  toil  and  fear 

On  hastening  wings  depart, 
As  from  their  shining  bowers 

Bright  angel-hosts  descend. 
And  with  mysterious  powers 

The  past  and  present  blend. 

Thought-pictures  then  each  tale 

These  glowing  pages  hold. 
Of  faith  wliich  ne'er  can  fail, 

Of  courage   true  and  bold, 
Of  grace  whose  plenteous  showers 

On  trusting  spirits  fall. 
And  with  its  strengthening  dowers 

Life  's  cunning  foes  forestall. 

z68 


'GLIMPSES  OF   THE   SUPERNATURAL."     1 69 

God  bless  the  hand   that   traced 

These  pictures  pure  and   quaint, 
Before  our  vision   placed 

Each    well-beloved   Saint ! 
Be  his  the  perfect   peace 

The  faithful  laborer  knows 
When  toil  shall  find  release 

In   Heaven's   serene  repose. 


CONGRA  TULA  TOR  Y  ADDRESS 


TO  MR.  AND  MRS.  MARTIN  MURPHY  ON  THE  FIFTIETH 
ANNIVERSARY  OF  THEIR  BRIDAL  DAY,  JULY  1 8, 
1881. 


SHINE,  O  golden  light  of  Summer! 
Over  hill  and  vale   to-day; 
Breezes,  bring  the   sweetest  fragrance 

From   the   blossoms   round  your   way; 
And,  ye  green   and  leafy  woodlands, 

Fling  your  waving  shadows  wide, 
As  we  bring  our  joyous  greeting 
To  ^the  bridegroom  and  the  bride  : 

Unto  you  whose  faithful  spirits 

Keep  the  flame  of  love  aglow 
With  the  same   pure,  tender  radiance 

As  when,  fifty  years  ago, 
In  the   quaint  Canadian  city 

By  the  far  Atlantic  shore, 
You,  when  life  was  in   its  morning. 

Pledged  your  vows  for  evermore — 

Vows  that  still,  through  sun  or  shadow, 
You  have  kept  a  sacred   trust, 

Walking  in  the  pathway  trodden 
By  the  gentle  and  the  just. 


CONGRA  TULA  TOR  Y  ADDRESS.  I  7 1 

Blessings   on  you,  joy  and  blessings 

From  the  hearts  of  all  to-day — 
Blessings  grand  ami  sweet  and  lasting 

Crown   you  with   their  shining  ray  ! 

Oh  !  it  is  not  cold  lip-homage, 

Which  even  strangers  may  command, 
But  with  love  through   life  cemented, 

Loyal  clasp  of  loyal  hand, 
Do  we  bring  our  words  of  greeting, 

Do  we  vainly  strive  to  tell. 
While  our  accents  weakly  falter 

All  the  joy  we  feel  so  well  ; 


Do  we  pray  for  blessings  on  you — 

May  the  blessings  you  have  sown 
Freely  in  the  lives  of  others, 

Bear  sweet  fruitage  in  your  own. 
Blessings  on  you  !     Calm  and  peaceful 

May  your  future  moments  be, 
Gliding  onward,  fair  and  tranquil, 

As  when  rivers  near  the  sea. 


Looking  backward  through  the  vistas 

Of  the  past  half-century,  lo  ! 
We  behold  your  hours  illumined 

By  love's  clear  and  perfect  glow — 
Love  whose  flame  made  bright  your  dwelling 

Where   the  tall  Canadian  pines 
Dare  the  Winter's  fiercest  tempests, 

Quaff  the  Summer's  rosiest  wines  ; 


172  CONGRA  TULA  TOR  Y  ADDRESS. 

Love  whose  angel  wended  with  you 

To  Missouri's  fertile  vales; 
Love  which  nerved   you*  on  your  journey 

Over  lonely  hills   and   dales, 
When,  your  course  still  westward  holding, 

'Neath  the  blue,   o'erarching  dome 
Here  you  hailed  the  blue  Pacific 

With  its  crest  of  sparkling  foam. 


And  when  all   these  wilds  were  joyous 

In  their   untamed  beauty's  glow. 
Here  you  pitched  your  tent  and  rested 

Six-and-thirty  years  ago. 
Here  you   toiled  with  earnest  spirit, 

Willing  heart,   and  generous  hand; 
Here  your  names  are  linked  for  ever 

With   the  history  of   our  land. 


Many  a  weary,  footsore  pilgrim, 

Toiling  through  the  trackless  West, 
Found  beneath  your  sheltering  roof-tree 

Welcome,  'comfort,  food,  and  rest. 
Many  a  grateful  heart  remembers, 

Many  a  grateful  voice  has  told. 
Of  your  deeds  of  gracious  kindness — 

Memories  sweet  for  us  to  hold. 


And  though  God  has  set  his  milestones — 
Graves  of  dear  ones — round  your  way, 

Lo !  they  are  as  angels  pointing 
On  to  realms  of  endless  day. 


CONGRATULATORY  ADDRESS.  I  73 

God  has  blessed  your  faithful  union ; 

May  those  blessings  never  cease, 
And  the  hours  of  life's  ripe  autumn 

See  them  daily  still  increase  I 

Blessings  on  you !     Friends   and  kindred 

The   sweet  chorus  gladly  swell, 
With  your  children,  and  their  children, 

Loved  so   fondly  and  so  well. 
Blessings  on  you  !     May  our  Father, 

From   his   treasure-house   on  high. 
Shower  his  choicest  graces  on  you. 

Naught  your  hearts  desire  deny  ; 

Bless  you  in  your  garnered  treasures, 

In  your  children's  lives  and  fame. 
In  the  thoughts  that  friends  and  kindred 

Twine  around  your  cherished  name, 
In  the  pleasures  that  await  you. 

In  the  good  deeds  you  have  done, 
Till  love's  golden  years  are  ended 

And  your  lives'  last  victory  won ! 


MA  Y^DA  Y  MEMORIES. 


OH!  blithely,  blithely  rose  that  morn, 
That  laughing  morn  in  May! 
And  wooed  us  forth  with  willing  feet 

O'er  hill  and  dale  to  stray, 
To  gather  flowers,  and  dance,  and  sing 
Throughout  the  livelong  day. 

And  forth  a  merry,  care-free  band 

Of  boys  and  girls  we  went ; 
The  freshening  breezes  of  the  spring 

Blew  o'er  the  hills  of  Kent, 
And  quick,  electric  thrills  of  joy 

Through  all  my  being  sent. 

Where  thick  and  white  the  hawthorn  bloomed, 

And  cowslip  bells  were  seen, 
We  raised  the  pole  with  blossoms  wreathed, 

And  crowned  our  sweet  May  Queen. 
Then  followed  music's  ringing  notes 

And  dancing  on  the  green. 

Oh !  there  was  many  a  bright-eyed  girl, 

And  many  a  rosy  lad, 
And  all  were  blithe  as  blithe  could  be: 

No  face  looked  grieved  or  sad  ; 
Age  smiled  on  youth,  and  'neath  that  smile 

Youth  grew  more  bright  and  glad. 

»74 


MA  Y-BA  Y  MEMORIES.  I  75 

Oh !  many  a  long  and  weary  year 

Has  passed  by  since  that  day, 
When  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  crowned 

One  maiden  Queen  of  May — 
A  blue-eyed,  bright-haired,  laughing  sprite 

Who  stole  my  heart  away. 

I  was  just  then  an  amorous  youth 
Whose  willing  muse  could  'plain, 

In  accents  full  of  sweet  desire, 
Love's  pleasurable  pain 

Which  burned  in  crimson  on  my  cheeks 
And  throbbed  within  my  brain. 

I  told  her  of  my  love  that  day. 

And,  coy  though  she  would  be. 
She  owned,  with  many  a  timid  blush, 

Her  heart's  pure  love  for  me — 
Love,  woman's  love,  whose  depths  are  still 

As  soundless  as  the  sea. 

Oh !  life's  full  cup  of  joy  was  filled 

Unto  the  brim  that  day  ; 
Love  crowned  with  perfect  light  the  eve 

That  closed  the  dawn  of  May — 
A  light  that  from  my  inmost  soul 

Can  never  pass  away. 


THE   CENTENNIAL    ODE, 

1 7  84- 1 8  84. 


WHY  do  we  gather  here  to-day, 
Where  westward,  stretching  far  away, 
The  great  Pacific's  waters  smile 
Round  frowning  cape  and  verdant  isle, 
And  with  reverberating  tone 
Along  the  sounding  beach  make  moan, 
That  with  its  ceaseless  echo  thrills 
The  bosom  of  the  mighty  hills  ? 

Why  meet  we  here,  'mid  summer's  bloom  ? 
To  lay  our  laurels  on  the  tomb 
Of  him  who  light  on  darkness  shed. 
And  to  Faith's  living  fountain  led 
The  countless  tribes  who  trod  of  yore 
In  savage  pride  our  golden  shore. 
We  come  with  reverent  hearts  to  prove 
Our  depths  of  gratitude  and  love 
To  him,  the  earnest,  true,  and  brave, 
Who  sleeps  in  yonder  hallowed  grave. 

Who  was  he  ?     In  immortal  speech 
What  lessons  doth  his  lifetime  teach  .'* 
As  the  most  precious  jewels  glow 
Deep  hidden  in  earth's  caves  below, 
So  from  the  humbler  walks  of  life 
He  sprang  a  warrior  for  the  strife 
Which  valiant  hosts  for  ever  wage 
176 


THE    CENTENNIAL   ODE.  I  77 

Against  the  demons'  tireless  rage. 

Majorca's  Isle,  whose  sunny  clime 

Dreams  in  perpetual  summer-time, 

Nursed  his  first  hours,  and  marked  with  joy 

The  lofty  spirit  of  the  boy  ; 

The  purity  of  heart  and  soul  ; 

The  feelings  held  in  sweet  control ; 

Each  thought  that  fired  Ins  youthful  breast 

By  heavenly  love  alone  possessed  ; 

The  love  whose  power,  while  yet  a  child 

And  life  a  cloudless  vista  smiled, 

Urged  him  to  lay,  as  offering  meet, 

That  life  before  his  Saviour's  feet, 

Pledging  his  loyalty  and  love 

To  the  great  King  who  rules  above. 

He  in  the  convent's  shelter  found 

True  peace  and  healing  for  each  wound  ; 

There  from  each  grand,  inspired  page 

He  conned  the  lore  of  Saint  and  Sage, 

And  Science  hastened  to  impart 

Her  treasures  to  his  longing  heart. 

There  learned  he,  'neath  love's  gentle  sway, 

Who  best  commands  must  first  obey. 

Who  other  souls  would  safely  guide 

Must  cleanse  his  own  of  wrath  and  pride, 

And  he  who  other  lives  would  rule 

With  humble  will  his  own  must  school  ; 

There  won  that  knowledge,  strength,  and  power, 

His  stay  and  shield  in  many  an  hour 

When  toil  and  danger,  want  and  pain 

Oppressed,  and  earthly  hope  seemed  vain. 

A  soldier  dreams  of  laurels  earned 
When  the  fierce  battle's  tide  has  turned, 


178  THE   CENTENNIAL   ODE. 

And,  thundering  o'er  the  trampled  plain, 

The  cheers  of  victory  ring  amain  ; 

Then,  'mid  the  echoing  acclaim, 

Hears  praise  for  valor  crown  his  name  ; 

Rejoicing  feels  that  fame  will  bring 

To  him  proud  honors  from  his  king. 

So  to  the  young  Franciscan  came 

A  vision  of  celestial  fame  ; 

A  longing  all  his  thoughts  possessed 

To  labor  in  the  savage  West, 

And  to  its  hapless  children  bear 

The  joys  that  Christian  nations  share — 

The  gifts  of  Faith  and  Hope  and  Love, 

The  triple  key  of  Heaven  above. 

A  heart  like  his,  so  fired  with  zeal 
For  God's  dear  c^use,  so  prompt  to  feel 
For  others'  woes,  so  swift  to  aid 
Weak  souls  by  suffering  dismayed. 
Bled  for  the  children  of  the  wild. 
By  pagan  rites  debased,  defiled. 
For  them  he  prayed,  for  them  he  wept, 
And  many  a  fast  and  vigil  kept. 
And  with  his  chosen  friends,  who  claim 
Our  country's  fairest  wreath  of  Fame, 
In  love's  impatience,  fond  and  sweet, 
Waited  the  coming  hour  to  greet 
When,  on  the  missionary  field, 
They  too  the  arms  of  Christ  might  wield. 

Fair  Cadiz  sitteth  by  the  sea, 
A  queen  in  power  and  majesty. 
The  throbbing  waves  her  shores  that  greet 
Bring  the  world's  commerce  to  her  feet. 


THE   CENTENNIAL   ODE. 


179 


What  treasures  through  her  port  have  passed, 

As  East  and  West  their  tribute  cast, 

In  gold  and  pearls  and  raiment  rare, 

Before  her  in  profusion  fair  ! 

But  never  galleon  bore  such  freight 

Of  priceless  value  through  her  gate 

As  when,  toward  the  sunset  world, 

Sped  forth  a  ship  with  sails  unfurled, 

Bearing  to  fields  of  labor  new 

Brave  hearts  and  noble,  strong  and  true  ; 

For  with  that  band  of  heroes  came 

Padre  Junipero,  whose  name, 

A  golden  nimbus,  crowns  our  land 

With  deathless  glory,  pure  and  grand. 

With  him  sailed,  too,  the  friends  of  years— 

Crespi,  Palou,  Verger  :  who  hears 

That  roll  of  honor  called,  nor  feels 

Within  his  heart  a  sense  of  pride. 

Nor  yields  the  homage  ne'er  denied 

To  tliose  whom  Fame  reveals 

As  worthy  of  the  loftiest  place, 

The  proudest  honors  of  our  race, 

Knows  naught  of  gratitude  or  love ; 

His  thoughts  can  never  soar  above 

The  grovelling  cares  of  earth. 
For  daring  toils  of  land  and  deep, 
They  waked  this  fair  land  from  her  sleep 

Ere  Freedom's  hour  of  birth. 

.    Oh  !  vainly  would  the  Muse  essay 

To  tell  the  dangers  of  the  way, 

When,  driven  by  storms,  by  calms  oppressed, 

By  woes  of  famine  sore  distressed, 


l80  THE   CENTENNIAL   ODE. 

Till  nine-and-ninety  days  passed  o'er, 

They  landed  on  the  Mexic  shore. 

For  nineteen  years  her  valleys  heard 

Their  voices  preach  God's  holy  word, 

Until  the  hour  so  long  delayed — 

The  hour  for  which  Junipero  prayed 

From  childhood's  tender  glow — 

Came  with  his  monarch's  mandate  :  "  Go 

To  California's  lonely  wild  ; 

There  labor  for  the  forest's  child, 

And  lift  him  from  his  savage  state 

To  Christian  knowledge  true  and  great  " — 

Thrice  welcome  message,  heard  in  tears 

Of  joy  too  deep  for  speech  ;  the  years 

Of  waiting  vanished  as  a  dream, 

A  shadow  on  life's  hurrying  stream. 

He  came.     The  desert  wild  and  lone, 
The  mountains  stern  and  high, 
The  sombre  pall  of  silence  thrown 
In  awe  o'er  earth  and  sky, 
The  barren  wastes  of  drifting  sand, 
The  cactus  with  its  armed  band, 
The  burning  thirst,  the  fiery  heat. 
The  rugged  rocks  that  pierced  his  feet, 
The  thousand  dangers  of  each  day, 
Barred  not  our  sainted  Father's  way. 
For  his  the  heart  of  warrior-mould. 
The  zeal  that  never  groweth  cold  ; 
Sickness  and  suffering,  pain  and  want. 
Hunger  and  warfare — naught  could  daunt 
The  heart  whose  only  thought  and  aim 
Was  but  to  glorify  God's  name. 


THE   CENTENNIAL    ODE.  l8l 

He  viewed  our  country's  beauty  first 

In  summer's  fervid  glow  ; 
And  as  upon  his  vision  burst 

Its  charms,  in  accents  slow, 
In  accents  solemn,  slow,  and  grand, 
Rose  heavenward  from  his  faithful  band 
Such  heartfelt  hymns  of  praise  and  love 
As  echo  in  God's  courts  above. 

O  ye  who  mark  the  spreading  plain, 
A  billowy  sea  of  golden  grain, 
And,  as  the  time  of  harvest  nears, 
Dream  of  the  wealth  of  ripening  ears — 
The  glorious  product  of  the  soil. 
The  hundredfold  reward  of  toil — 
Can  ye  not  fancy  how  he  felt 
When  first  upon  our  shores  he  knelt, 
And  all  its  wealth  of  land  and  wave 
As  tribute  to  his  Maker  gave  ? 
And — offering  dearer  far  than  all — 
He  gave  the  tribes  he  came  to  call 

Beneath  the  Cross  to  dwell  : 
The  harvest  ripening  for  his  hand. 
The  field  where  his  devoted  band 

Labored  so  long  and  well. 

Words  fail,  and  fancy's  busy  thought 
Compasseth  not  the  works  he  wrought 
In  California,  peopled  then 
By  tribes  of  wild  and  warlike  men. 
But,  fifteen  years  of  patient  toil, 
And  lo  !  as  flowerets  of  the  soil 


1 82  THE   CENTENNIAL   ODE, 

Rose  nine  fair  missions,  from  whose  towers 
The  sweet  chimes  told  the  passing  hours, 
Calling  to  labor  or  to  prayer 
The  Indians  dwelling  'neath  his  care. 

Oh !  not  in  idleness  and  ease 
Were  won  his  victories  by  these  seas. 
For  savage  hate  too  oft  repaid 
With  blood  and  fire  the  blessings  laid 
Before  them  by  the  generous  hand 
Of  the  Ai)Ostle  of  our  land. 
Nor  easy  was  the  task  to  train 
Wild  dwellers  of  the  hill  and  plain 
In  peaceful  arts  to  win  by  toil 
The  plenteous  harvests  of  the  soil. 
Only  the  strong,  unfaltering  love, 
The  wisdom  given  him  from  above, 
The  deep  humility  of  heart 
Which  made  them  of  his  life  a  part, 
And  nerved  him  and  his  priests  to  share 
The  trials  they  were  called  to  bear, 
Could  e'er  have  won  in  such  short  space 
The  homage  of  the  Indian  race. 
And  he  was  loved.     Thy  iiills,  Carmel, 
Seem  yet  to  echo  the  wild  swell 
Of  agony  and  grief  and  woe 
Heard  here  one  hundred  years  ago 
When  the  Apostle  of  the  West 
Entered  into  eternal  rest. 
What  lamentations  filled  the  air 
When,  reft  of  his  paternal  care. 
An  orphaned  band,  they  gathered  near 
To  strew  sweet  flowers  upon  his  bier, 


THE   CENTENNIAL   ODE.  1 83 

To  kiss  his  hand,  his  robe,  his  cross, 
Wailing  with  bitter  tears  their  loss — 
A  cry  of  heartfelt  ngony 
Which  echoing  rang  from  sea  to  sea, 
Bearing  the  burden  of  its  pain 
Unto  the  farthest  shores  of  Spain. 

O  faithful  shepherd  of  the  flock, 
O  priest  both  wise  and  brave, 
Whose  hand  earth's  secrets  did  unlock 
Beside  the  Western  wave. 
Around  thy  holy  tomb  to-day 
Another  people  bend  to  pray. 
Blending  with  those  whose  sires  of  yore 
Trod  with  thee  first  this  golden  shore 
And  heard  thy  burning  words  of  love, 
The  hearts  of  all  with  ardor  move. 
'Tis  theirs  to  reap  the  harvest  sown 

By  thee  in  faith  and  trust. 
They  to  the  listening  world  make  known 

Thy  name,  O  great  and  just  I 
For  thine  shall  be  a  deathless  fame, 
To  which  the  years  sliall  add  acclaim; 
Within  our  land  its  light  shall  glow 
While  mountains  stand  and  rivers  flow, 
And  the  deep  tones  of  wind  and  wave 
Sing  ceaseless  dirges  round  thy  grave. 


A  MEMENTO, 


SHE  sent  me  a  violet  deeply  blue, 
And  a  daisy  white  and  pure, 
The  emblems  meet  of  a  stainless  life 

And  a  love  that  will  endure; 
They  had  drunk  the  showers 
Through  the  winter's  hours, 

And  answered  the  sun's  soft  smile 
Where  the  green  hills  keep 
Watch  over  the  deep, 

Broad  bay  for  many  a  mile. 

I  looked  in  the  daisy's  face  so  white, 

And  the  violet's  eyes  of  blue, 
And  said :  "  Dear  flowers,  you  were  nursed  to 
life 

O'er  a  heart  as  pure  and  true 
As  e'er  sank  to  rest 
In  earth's  tranquil  breast 

When  youth  was  fair  and  bright, 
And  the  future  gleamed 
With  the  rays  that  streamed 

From  love's  illuming  light. 

"  Ye  have  watched  her  rest  through  starlit  hours 

And  noontide's  fervid  ray, 
Through  the  purple  glow  of  twilight's  reign 

And  the  dawning  cold  and  gray; 
X84 


A   MEMENTO.  1 85 


Your  fragrance  has  been  freely  shed 
Where  our  darling  lies  in  her  lowly  bed 

'Mid  the  scenes  she  loved  so  well ; 
Ye  have  heard  the  wild  bird's  carol  ring 
In  that  favored  haunt  of  the  beauteous  spring 

When  the  buds  and  blossoms  swell." 

And  1  laid  the  fairy  blooms  away 

With  the  tokens  I  love  the  best, 
A  sweet  memento  evermore 

Of  our  dear  one's  dreamless  rest — 
A  sweet  memento  evermore 
Of  one  who  passed  to  the  shining  shore, 

Where  the  spotless  of  soul  abide 
In  the  glorious  light  of  our  Father's  face, 
And  the  shining  rivers  of  love  and  grace 

Flow  on  in  a  boundless  tide. 


TWO  PICTURES. 


THE    PAST. 


FAR  away  in  that   far  country  where  the  sons  of 
France  first  labored, 
Where  their  names,  brave  saints  and  martyrs,  with 
a  haloing  glory  dwell, 
And  the  great  Saint  Lawrence  rushes  down  its  myriad 
miles  triumphant 
To  the  ocean,  where  its  waters  join  the  wild  Atlan- 
tic's swell, 
Stood  a  home  beneath  whose  roof-tree  dwelt  the  an- 
gels Love  and  Friendship — 
A  dear  home  where  Death  had  never  entered  with 
his  mien  of  woe. 
But  the  laughing  tones  of  children  waked  the  echoes, 
clear  and  ringing. 
With  the  ceaseless  mirth  and   music  which  from 
childish  hearts  o'erflow. 

Of  that  home  the  artist  Memory  loves  to  paint  a  shin- 
ing picture. 
Ah!   I  gaze  with  love  and  yearning  on  her  ever- 
varying  dyes. 
As  I  trace  the  fields  and  meadows,  with  the  waving 
woods  beyond  them, 
'Neath    the    swiftly-changing    glory   of   the   early 
spring-day  skies. 

x86 


TIVO  PICTURES.  187 


And  she  shows  the  evening  hours  when  around  the 
blazing  hearthside 
All  were  met  in  genial  converse  at  the  closing  of  the 
day; 
While  fond  parents,  proud  and  joyous,  smiled  upon 
the  group  around  them. 
Thinking  ne'er  was  home  so  happy,  never  parents 
blessed  as  they. 

How  the  great  logs  blazed  and  sparkled,  leaping  up 
in  crimson  radiance, 
As  the  youthful   watchers  listened   to   some  won- 
drous fairy-tale — 
Such  quaint  legends  as  have  echoed  in  the  hearts  and 
homes  of  Erin, 
Crowning  with   a  magic   interest  lonely  cairn  and 
haunted  vale. 
Then  the  evening  prayers  ascended,   incense  sweet 
from  hearts  unsullied, 
Thanks  and  praise  celestial  blending,  upward  borne 
by  angels  bright, 
Till  the  calm  and  peace  descending  from  the  treasures 
of  our  Father 
Seemed  to  rest  upon  all  spirits  as  they  softly  said  : 
"Good-night." 


THE    PRESENT. 

Now  the  present  paints  a  picture  of  that  home  once 
bright  and  joyous. 
Shows  tlie  change  the  years,  in  passing  on  their  on- 
ward journey,  wrought  : 


1 88  TIVO  PICTURES. 

Still  it  stands  amid  its  meadows,   fair  as  when  the 
smiling  children 
Flowers  of  spring  and  summer's  berries  to  its  wel- 
coming portals  brought — 
Still  it  stands  amid  its  meadows,  with  the  rare  Octo- 
ber sunlight 
Flooding  all  the  land  around  it  with  the  autumn's 
gorgeous  dyes; 
But  no  more  the  echoes  waken  to  the  sound  of  care- 
free laughter, 
For  a  cloud  of  woe   and  sadness    on   that  olden 
dwelling  lies. 

The  children,  men  and  women  now,  no  longer  cross 
its  threshold  ; 
Dwellers  they  in   realms  far  sundered — one  where 
Walla  Walla  flows, 
One  amid  Ontario's  beauties,  one  on  Michigan's  fair 
borders, 
And  one  where  California's  brightest  valley  shines 
and  glows  ; 
Two   still   linger  where   the   Storm-King  holds  high 
revel  when  the  winter 
Wraps  the  wide  Canadian  country  in  a  winding- 
sheet  of  snow; 
Two,  the  nearest  and  the  dearest,  have  laid  down  life's 
weary  burden. 
Bade  farewell  to  all  they  cherished,  all  who  loved 
them  here  below — 
Two  who  walked,  in  sun  or  shadow,  with  pure  souls 
and  hearts  uplifted 
To  the  Saviour  who  so  loved  them  that  he  gave  to 
them  to  bear 


TJVO  PICTURES.  189 

Some  small  portion  of  his  burden  in  the  pain  he  bade 
them  suffer, 
Drawing  them  from  earth  to  enter  still  more  closely 
in  his  care. 

And  their  parents,  prayerful,  patient,  by  the  Chris- 
tian's hope  supported. 
Dwell  beneath  the  sheltering  roof-tree  that  once 
saw  so  much  of  bliss. 
In  the  calm  and  peaceful  beauty  of  a  ripe  old  age  be- 
holding 
Through    death's    angel-guarded    portal    shine    a 
brighter  world  than  this. 
Blessed  Faith !  whose  rays  inspiring  cheer  us  in  our 
hours  of  sorrow, 
Showing  us  that  death  and  parting  are  but  transi- 
tory things. 
To  that  home,  and  hearts  it  shelters,  bear  a  boundless 
wealth  of  comfort, 
Strength  and  graces  from  the  treasures  of  the  won- 
drous King  of  Kings. 


TO  J.  M. 


LO  !  within  the  precious  volume 
Which  thy  love  hath  sent  to  me 
I  have  gathered  many  blossoms 

Fraught  with  tender  thoughts  of  thee- 

Blossoms  which,  like  dewy  violets 
In  tlieir  foliage  hidden  deep, 

Yield  to  passing  winds  the  fragrance 
That  their  perfumed  bosoms  keep : 

Dreams  of  days  when  golden  summer 
Knew  no  wearying  round  of  toil, 

When  in  ceaseless  calm  the  seasons 
Blessed  the  owners  of  the  soil  ; 

Ere  across  the  tall  Sierras 

Came  the  pioneers  of  old. 
Here  to  win  as  shining  guerdon 

California's  wealth  untold. 

California's  fertile  valleys, 

California's  cloudless  skies, 
California's  voiceful  rivers 

Wooed  to  deeds  of  high  emprise. 

In  her  wild,  imperious  beauty 

There  was  much  the  heart  to  move, 

And  the  bravest  still  are  winners, 
Be  the  object  land  or  love. 
190 


TO   y.   M.  191 


Years  have  passed  since  first  thy  footsteps 
Pressed  the  smiling  western  slope ; 

Vanished  now  are  all  the  dangers 

'Gainst  which  thou  wert  called  to  cope. 

Thou  art  victor  ;  time  has  blessed  thee, 
All  best  joys  of  life  are  thine ; 

Yet  not  more  than  I  could  wish  thee 
In  this  heart-wreath  which  I  twine. 


May  thy  future  still  be  happy 
As  the  sunny  days  gone  by, 

And  no  cloud  of  sorrow  ever 
Mar  the  azure  of  thy  sky ! 


GOD  BLESS  YOU. 


*' /^OD  bless  you!"     'Twas  a  simple  prayer, 
\jr     And  yet  it  reached   God's  throne 

As  surely  as  the  ringing  psalm 
Blent  with   the  organ's  tone. 

"  God  bless  you  !  "     'Twas  the  grateful  prayer 

Of  lips  by  mercy  fed, 
The  prayer  of  one  whose  hands  had  grown 

Too  weak  to  earn  his  bread  ; 

A  prayer  for  blessings  from  the  store 

Whose  wealth  can  never  fail, 
Though  earth  should  crumble  into  dust 

And  starry  skies  grow  pale. 

Then  listen  to  the  pleading   tones 

Of  those  in  want  who  live. 

And  from  their  grateful  pleasure  learn 

How  bless'd  it  is  to   give. 
192 


THE  BABY  SLEEPS. 


THE  baby  sleeps,  his  silken  lashes  sweeping 
The  rounded  beauty  of  each  velvet  cheek, 
Veiling  the  lustrous  eyes  whose  tender  glances 

So  well  the  infant's  guileless  love  could  speak ; 
O'er  his  white  brow  dark,  clustering  tresses  rest, 
And  his  wee  hands  lie  lightly  on  his  breast. 

Just  one  short  month  ago  he  came  from  Heaven, 
Bringing  its  sunshine  in  his  smiling  face. 

And  day  by  day  he  drew  each  fond  heart  nearer 
By  his  sweet  purity  and  childish  grace. 

How  well  beloved  he  was  they  feel  alone 

Whose  mother-heart  such  treasures  dear  have  known. 

The  baby  sleeps  the  sleep  that  knows  no  waking  ; 

The  luminous  eyes  will  never  more  unclose  ; 
The  stainless  soul  will  ne'er  by  earth  be  tarnished, 

Nor  the  young  heart  be  wrung  by  sorrow's  throes  : 
For,  'mid  the  shining  ministers  of  grace. 
He  looks  to-day  upon  our  Father's  face. 

The  baby  sleeps,  but,  robed  in  radiant  splendor 

Amid  the  glory  of  celestial  light. 
He  joins  the  strains  of  rapturous  worship  sounding 

Where  Jesus'  presence  maketh  all  things  bright. 
There  baby  Wilfrid,  angel  Wilfrid,  hears 
No  more  the  mourning  of  this  vale  of  tears. 
193 


CON  FIRM  A  TION. 


THEY  knelt  before  the  altar, 
A  white-robed,  white-crowned  throng, 
Pure-hearted  children  lifted 
Anear  the  angels'  song. 

They  knelt  before  the  altar, 

And  from  the  Bishop's  hand 
Received  the  sign  which  sealed  them 

True  soldiers  of  Christ's  band — 

True  soldiers  of  that  legion 

Which  battles,  day  by  day. 
Against  the  world's  corruption, 

Against  the  demon's  sway, 

Against  the  grovelling  passions 
Which  in  the  flesh  find  place, 

And  lead  the  senses  captive 
Far  from  the  throne  of  grace. 

Dear  lambs  whom  the  One  Shepherd 

Has  gathered  to  his  fold, 
Pure-hearted,  happy  children. 

Beneath  the  Cross  enrolled  ; 

Signed  with  the  sacred  chrism. 
Sealed  with  the  Saviour's  sign, 

Enlightened  by  the  beauty 
Of  the  sevenfold  gifts  divine. 


CONFIRM  A  TION.  \  95 


Sweet  subjects  of  the   Spirit, 

Whose  wisdom,  thought,  and  power 
To  each  he  freely  giveth, 

A  rare,  a  priceless  dower — 

A  priceless   dower  to  aid  them 

Along  life's   rugged  way, 
Sustaining,   strengthening,  cheering 

Their  young  hearts  day  by  day. 

For  many   are  the  trials 

That  on  their  footsteps  wait, 

The  unbeliever's  scoffing. 
The  bigot's  words  of  hate, 

The  malice  of  the  demons 

Who  seek  to  vent  their  spleen 

Upon  the  humble  followers 
Of  the   "lowly   Nazarene.'* 

But,  strengthened   by  the   Spirit 

To  tread  religion's  ways. 
Their  lives  in  virtuous  actions 

Shall  sing  their  Maker's  praise. 


SILVER  JUBILEE 

OF    THE    MOST    REV.    JOSEPH    S.    ALEMANY.    D.D. 


SON  of  Saint  Dominic  !   blessed  be  the  hour 
When    first   our    shores    thy    favored    footsteps 
pressed, 
True  shepherd,  seeking  with  unsw'erving  love 
Thy  scattered  flock  within  the  golden  West — 

The  flock  that  wandered  far  witliout  a  fold. 

For  whom  no  Pastor's  hand  the  Banquet  spread, 

Or  to  the  ever-flowing  fount  of  grace 

The  sinrner,  thirsting  for  God's  mercy,  led. 

The  holy  seed  Saint  Francis'  sons  had  sown 

Seemed  whelmed  beneath  the  evil  tide  which  swept 

Across  the  land  when,  drawn  from  every  zone. 
Votaries  of  Mammon  here  their  orgies  kept. 

There  was  no  home  to  shield  the  sick  or  poor, 
No  shelter  for  the  orphan's  head  was  found ; 

Only  from  Missions  lying  far  apart 

Was   heard    at    morn    and    eve   the    churcli-bell's 
sound. 

Wide-spread  the  wliitening  harvest  to  thy  hand. 

Heavy  the  labor,  and  the  laborers  few  ; 
But,  strong  in  Faith's  divinest  love  and  trust, 

Thou  didst  the  work  the  Master  bade  thee  do. 

196 


SILVER    JUBILEE.  1 97 

And  blessings  crowned  thee  with  the  passing  years  : 

Unclouded  shines  thy  Silver  Jubilee 
Where,  symbol  of  our  Faith,  the  Cross  keeps  watch 

O'er  spire  and  dome  beside  the  sounding  sea. 

From  every  altar  tiirough  the  land  to-day 
Prayers  of  thanksgiving  for  thy  past  arise, 

Prayers  that  thy  future,  hours  may  ever  be 
Fraught  with  the  glorious  riches  of  the  skies  ; 

Prayers  of  the  orphans  sheltered  by  thy  care, 
Prayers  of  the  poor  thy  pitying  love  hath  fed, 

Prayers  of  repentant  sinners  by  thy  hand 
Back  to  the  path  of  truth  and  virtue  led ; 

Prayers  from  the  city's  throbbing  heart  that  rise. 
Prayers  that  are  echoed  far  by  hill  and  plain  : 

From  rich  and  poor,  from  high  and  low  alike, 
Ascends  for  thee  love's  glad  and  grateful  strain. 

For  never  father  with  paternal  care 

More  tenderly  his  children's  wants  supplied 

Than  thou  hast  guarded  from  the  ways  of  ill 

For  five-and-twenty  years  thy  household  wide.      ^ 

The  lofty  temples  builded  to  His  name 
Whose  law  is  love  and  mercy,  who  is  just, 

The  stately  halls  where  gracious  learning  reigns, 
Bear  witness  thou  hast  well  fulfilled  thy  trust. 

But  not  alone  by  monuments  like  these, 
O  faithful  Pastor  !   are  thy  labors  told ; 

The  spirits  thou  hast  strengthened  in  the  faith, 
The  legions  'nealh  the  holy  Cross  enrolled, 


198  SILVER    JUBILEE. 

The  bright  soul-treasures  precious  beyond  price, 
Crown-jewels- given  into  thy  Maker's  hand — 

The  hearts  of  those  who  love  thee  and  to-day 
Arise  to  call  thee  blessed  in  the  land. 

Joining  with  those  who  speak  their  love  to  thee, 
Thy  distant  children  waft  their  wishes  too — 

Wishes  that  every  coming  year  to  thee 
In  peace  and  bliss  its  glories  may  renew. 

No  words  can  tell  the  gratitude  we  feel, 
The  debt  we  owe  thee  love  alone  can  pay ; 

But  joy  for  thee,  and  endless  peace  and  bliss 
For  all  thy  future,  we  can  fondly  pray. 

And  oh  !  God  keep  thee  in  his  holy  care, 
And  leave  thee  to  the  children  of  thy  fold. 

That  they  may  hail  thee  as  their  Father  still 
When  Time  shall  sound  thy  Jubilee  of  Gold. 

June  30,  1875. 


LAS  LLAGAS  DE  SAN  FRANCISCO, 


THERE  are  buds  of  beauty  swelling 
Into  being  on  its  brink, 
Where  the  clematis  is  clambering, 

And  the  pale  rose  bends  to  drink, 
And  the  giant  plane-trees  o'er  it 
Their  white  fingers  interlink. 

Down  upon  its  verdant  margin, 

Where  the  blithe  larks  build  and  sing, 

Spreads  the  greenest  and  the  softest 
Velvet  carpet  of  the  spring  ; 

And  the  first*born  of  the  song-birds 
There  essay  their  flight  to  wing. 

From  the  summits  of  the  mountains 
Wafts  of  fragrance  drift  adown 

When  the  breezes  stir  the  leaflets 
Of  their  foreheads*  laurel  crown, 

While  the  babbling  of  the  streamlets 
Fain  all  other  tones  would  drown. 

Tracing  it  from  out  its  fastness 
To  the  valley  broad  and  fair. 

Can  we  wonder,  'mid  its  beauties, 
That  some  pious  missionaire 

Gave  to  it  the  name  of  reverence 
Which  its  charmed  windings  bear  ? 


2(X>         LAS  LLAGAS  BE   SAN  FRANCISCO. 

"The  Stigmata  of  Saint  Francis" — 

Name  of  holiness  sublime, 
Like  a  blessing  on  its  waters, 

Like  a  halo  for  all  time, 
Like  a  beacon  'mid  the  darkness 

Of  this  world  of  woe  and  crime. 

Thus  the  cliildren  of  St.   Francis, 
When  religion's  glory  streamed 

O'er  this  country  and  the  darkness 
Within  wliich  its  people  dreamed, 

Set  the  seal  of  Love  Eternal 

On  the  land  they  had  redeemed  ; 

Giving  names  of  saints  and  martyrs 
To  each  stream  that  murmurs  by, 

To  the  hills  whose  cloud-veiled  summits 
Seem  to  rest  against  t^e  sky, 

Making  each  a  silent  teacher 
Of  the  Lord  who  rules  on  high. 


HAWTHORN  BLOSSOMS. 


0  HAWTHORN  blossoms,  white  as>now  ! 
From  brow  and  brain  to-day 
Your  beauty  drives  with  magic  power 
Pain's  cruel  band  away. 

Sweet  wizards  of  the  April  hours, 

From  out  your  pearly  cells, 
Upon  the  soft,  still  air  of  noon, 

A  strain  of  music  wells : 

Low  whispers  of  the  western  vale 

Where,  by  the  breezes  kissed, 
Ye  revelled  in  the  sun's  warm  glow, 

And  quaffed  the  sea-born  mist, 

And  quaffed  the  beaded  draughts  of  dew 

Borne  inland  frpm  the  sea, 
And  heard  beneath  your  spreading  shade 

The  children's  merry  glee — 

The  winsome,  bright-eyed  girls  and  boys 

Whose  rose-embowered  home 
Was  free  from  care  as  winds  that  sweep 

The  cloudless  summer  dome. 

Oh  !    far  beyond  the  present's  hour. 

On  airy  wings  of  light. 
Ye  bear  my  fancy  floating  far 

Across  the  ocean  bright, 


202  HAWTHORN  BLOSSOMS. 

Across  the  sounding  waves  that  beat 

Beyond  the  mountains  tall, 
O'er  plain,  and  waste,  and  peopled  towns, 

To  Erin's  sea-girt  wall. 

There,  when  the  golden  year  is  young 

And  twilight's  hour  is  born, 
The  fairies  trip  their  mystic  dance 

Around  the  snowy  thorn. 

Full  many  a  legend  of  our  land 

Around  the  tree  is  twined, 
And  deep  in  fond  and  loving  hearts 

Its  name  for  ever  shrined. 

For  wandering  exiles  'neath  its  shade 
Have  spent  their  care-free  hours, 

And  watched  with  childhood's  curious  gaze 
Its  wondrous  wealth  of  flowers ; 

Have  seen  its  emerald  foliage  gleam. 
Its  blooms  like  drifted  snow, 

And,  brightly  shining  amid  all, 
Its  berries'  crimson  glow — 

Blending  like  homes  where  haply  reigns 
The  power  of  love  and  truth. 

The  fruit  of  age  with  manhood's  prime 
And  the  pure  hours  of  youth. 

O  hawthorn  blossoms,  white  as  snow  ! 

Fair  emblems,  truly  meet. 
Of  Hope,  whose  smile  o'er  darkened  days 

Has  shed  a  radiance  sweet. 


HAWTHORN  BLOSSOMS.  2O3 

Around  her  life  whose  dear  hand  culled 

This  wand  of  light  for  me, 
May  Hope  pour  forth  her  choicest  gifts 

In  measure  full  and  free. 

May  gentle  Love  and  Peace  combine 

To  bless  her  future  hours, 
And  earth  reflect  in  tender  hues 

The  light  of  heavenly  bowers! 


A  BEER'S  ANTLERS. 
(received  from  b.  t,  m.) 


THOU  timid  ranger  of  the  wild, 
Whose  flying  feet  the  mosses  spurned 
On  heights  where  day's  last  embers  burned 
Or  morning's  rosy  s])lendors  smiled, 

How  oft  thy  stately  front  has  shone 

At  dawn  upon  the  ferny  hills, 

Or  gleamed  reflected  in  the  rills 
That  murmur  down  through  canons  lone. 

There,  when  the  noonday  heats  oppressed, 
And,  save  the  insect's  droning  hum, 
Tlie  mighty  solitudes  were  dumb, 

How  sweet  it  was  to  lie  at  rest 

Where  flowers  their  fragrance  freely  shed, 
And  the  tall  brackens'  nodding  plumes. 
Made  denser  still  the  vernal  glooms 

Around  the  mountain  monarch's  bed  ! 

Thus  didst  tliou  on  the  trackless  waste 
Dwell  'mid  all  things  both  fair  and  free, 
Hearing  afar  the  moaning  sea 

Roar  hoarsely  when  by  tempest  chased, 


A   DEER'S  ANTLERS.  205 

Or  from  the  echoing  hills  around 
The  challenge  answered  back  again, 
As  though  defiance  to  the  main 

Was  given  in  the  thunderous  sound. 

Oh  !  bright  the  Spring  day's  fadeless  sheen, 
And  Summer's  fadeless  beauties  smile 
Around  thy  haunts  for  many  a  mile 

Where  waving  groves  are  ever  green. 

But  never  in  their  sylvan  shade 

Thy  graceful  form  again  shall  move, 
Thy  swiftly  bounding  speed  to  prove, 

Where  thou  so  oft  of  yore  hast  played. 

No  more  upon  the  breezy  hill 

These  stately  antlers  wilt  thou  toss  : 
Here,  shining  with  unfading  gloss, 

A  trophy  of  the  hunter's  skill. 

They  hang  upon  the  pictured  wall. 
And  memory  paints  the  lofty  swell 
Of  the  green  hills  of  San  Rafael, 

That  saw  thy  freedom  and  thy  fall. 

Fair  trophy  of  a  huntsman's  skill, 
Dear  token  from  a  kindly  heart, 
To  which  I  pray  Heaven  may  impart 

The  blessings  which  that  heart  can  fill, 

With  all  the  choicest  gifts  that  crown 

A  life  of  usefulness  and  love, 

A  life  whose  aim  is  far  above 
This  earth's  dark  turmoil,  care,  or  frown. 


CHEER  UP, 


KEEP  a  stout  heart,  friend,  though    fortune  may 
frown  ; 
Let  not  life's  burdens  thus  weigh  thee  down. 

What  are  earth's  pleasures  but  glittering  dross  ? 
Tread  in  His  footsteps  who  carried  the  Cross. 

Sink  not  aweary,  faint  not  with  fear  ; 
Angels  are  with  thee  to  comfort  and  cheer. 

Life's  path  not  always  leads  through  joy's  bower ; 
Griefs  will  assail  thee  and  tempests  will  lower. 

But  as  the  morning  follows  the  night, 
After  the  shadow  cometh  the  light — 

The  light  of  that  morning  which  ever  endures, 
Whose  beauty  no  storm-cloud  of  sorrow  obscures  ; 

The  light  of  His  presence  in  whose  love  is  found 
An  armor  unfailing  to  compass  thee  round. 

Girt  with  that  armor,  what  is  there  to  fear } 
Then  up,  friend,  and  onward  !     Be  of  good  cheer. 

Not  to  the  coward  the  battle  is  given. 
Nor  to  the  faltering  the  glories  of  Heaven. 


A  MEMORY  OF  MA  Y, 


THE  Autumn's  bright  crown  is  with  golden  hues 
tinted, 
And  the  dead  leaves   like   moments   are  drifting 
away ; 
But  this  bloom  of  Collinsia,  as  pure  as  the  dawning, 
Recalls  to  my  spirit  a  memory  of  May — 

A  memory  of  hours  when  it,  with  its  kindred, 
Like  fairy  lamps  lighted  a  lone  mountain  dell, 

Whose  tree-clothed  sides  gave  a  musical  echo 

To  the  strains  whose  glad  chorus  the  wild  song- 
sters swell. 

From  the   hearts  of  the  flowers  sweet  perfume  was 
stealing, 
And  the  green  branching  ferns  hid  the  rough  rocks 
away. 
The    Columbine's    rubies    burned    bright    'mid    the 
thickets, 
And  the  wild  roses,  blushing,  bent   down  to  the 
spray ; 

While  fair  as  the  blossoms  that  May-day  adorning, 

And  pure  as  this  bloom  from  the  rude  hill-side  rent, 
Were  the  laugliing-eyed,  glad-hearted  girls  who  wan- 
dered 

Amid  those  wild  scenes,  and  in  ecstasy  bent 
207 


208  A   MEMORY  OF  MAY. 

Where  some  rare  floral  gem  in  its  beauty  was  spring- 
ing, 
Or  wonderingly  gazed  where  some  wild  bird  with 
skill 
Had  cunningly  woven  its  nest,  and  had  hidden  it 
In  safety  away  *mid  the  grass  on  the  hill. 

Young  hearts  paid  their  tribute  of  homage  to  Nature^ 
And  blithe  voices  wakened  the  echoes  that  slept 

Lulled  away  in  the  depths  of  the  mountains,  whose 
secrets 
The  ages  so  long  and  so  jealously  kept  ; 

'Till  the  noontide's  warm  hours  of  tropical  beauty 
Were  treasured  away  with  the  dreams  of  the  past, 

And  the   sweet-sighing   zephyrs  stole  downward   to 
wander 
Amid  the  cool  shades  that  to  westward  were  cast. 

Then  all  gathered  round  an  old  oak  by  the  fountain, 
A  reft  in  whose  moss-covered  trunk  formed  a  shrine 

Which  fair  hands  had  decked  with  bright  flowers  and 
tapers, 
And  there  in  their  midst  smiled  the  Mother  Divine, 

Whose  praise,  in  sweet  accents  of  music  up-swelling, 
Flowed  forth  from  the  hearts  of  the  children  who 
came. 
To  quaff  from  the  full  cup  of  Nature's  pure  pleasures 
Amid   these   wild   scenes,  from   tlieir  home   Notre 
Dame. 


A   MEM  OR  V  OF  MA  Y.  2O9 

Oh  !  never  before  had  that  sylvan  dell  witnessed 
A  sight  as  entrancing  as  shone  in  it  then, 

When  each  young  lieart  was  lifted   in   praise  to  its 
Maker, 
And  angels  knelt  with  them  that  day  in  the  glen — 

Knelt  with  them  to  catch  every  breath  of  their  wor- 
ship, 

Sweeter  far  than  the  odorous  gems  of  the  sod, 
To  bear  it  aloft,  like  the  fragrance  of  incense, 

To  their  home  in  the  beautiful  presence  of  God. 

How  the  rugged  old  hills  must  have  thrilled  to  their 
centre 

As  they  echoed  the  praise  of  the  Mother  most  pure  \ 
What  a  beautiful  tale  for  the  great  oaks  to  whisper 

In  tremulous  murmurs  while  they  shall  endure  ! 

And  here,  while  the  dead  leaves  around  me  are  drift- 
ing, 
And  the  old  year  in  beauty  is  passing  away, 
While  the  red  tapers  brighten  the  shrine  of  the  Au- 
tumn, 
My  heart  turns  with  joy  to  this  memory  of  May. 


TO  NELLIE, 


WHILE  the  tints  of  early  autumn 
Over  hill  and  valley  fall, 
And  September's  gentle  fingers 
Spread  her  azure  veil  o'er  all, 

Upon  this  thy  bridal  morning, 

Nellie  dearest,  do  we  pray 
That  thy  future  be  as  cloudless 

As  the  fairest  summer  day; 

Bright  and  beauteous  as  the  wild  rose 
Blushing  by  the  winding  streams  ; 

Joyous  as  the  wild  birds'  accents 
Sounding  where  the  sunlight  beams ; 

Fresh  as  morning's  draught  of  nectar 
Perfumed  by  the  violet's  breath, 

Hallowed  by  a  love  whose  fervor 
Will  prove  faithful  unto^death. 

Crowned  with  Heaven's  choicest  blessings, 
Faith  and  Hope  and  changeless  Love, 

Whose  bright  angel-hands  will  lead  thee 
To  the  heart's  true  home  above. 


A   TRINKET. 


YOU  smile,  pretty  one,  at  this  token, 
This  token  so  battered  and  gray — 
This  symbol  of  Hope,  which,  though  broken, 
I  wear  my  sole  trinket  to-day. 

But  know,  of  all  things  that  I  treasure, 
Is  this  symbol  most  precious  to  me  ; 

For  it  slept  on  the  grave  of  my  darling 
In  the  Island  far  over  the  sea. 

Kneeling  there  when  my  heart  was  nigh  broken, 
When  earth  seemed  all  dark  to  my  eyes, 

I  found  on  her  low  grave  this  token, 
Like  a  messenger  sent  from  the  skies. 

It  whispered  of  bright  days  before  me. 
Of  strength  with  my  trials  to  cope  : 

Since  that  hour  all  my  life's  stormy  battles 
Have  been  won  'neath  the  banner  of  Hope. 


THROUGH  IDLE  HOURS, 


THE  roses  blossom  by  the  gate, 
The  roses  clamber  up  the  wall  ; 
The  birds  sing  when  the  morning  breaks, 
Tlie  birds  sing  at  the  evening's  fall. 

The  breezes  idle  through  the  woods, 
The  breezes  loiter  o'er  the  grass  ; 

The  clinging  vines,  with  bloom  aglow, 
Nod  gaily  to  them  as  they  pass. 

The  scene  is  fair  the  long  day  through, 
But  fairest  when  the  twilight  thrills 

With  her  deep  sense  of  restful  calm 
The  bosoms  of  the  mighty  hills ; 

When  day  has  passed,  and  with  it  borne 
The  petty  cares  that  try  and  wound, 

And  in  the  peaceful  trance  of  even 
A  joyous  benison  is  found. 

Then  it  is  sweet  through  idle  hours 
To  sit  and  muse  as  daylight  fades, 

Till  all  the  shining  stars  of  heaven 

Glow  in  the  Night  Queen's  ebon  braids  ; 

To  sit  and  watch  the  crimson  waves 
Of  sunset  lave  the  shores  of  gold, 

While  argosies  of  amber  hue 

By  giant  cliffs  their  courses  hold — 


THROUGH  IDLE  HOURS. 


213 


Rare  argosies  that  drift  away 
With  every  snowy  sail  unfurled, 

To  anchor  in  some  quiet  bay 

Shut  in  the  wondrous  cloudland  world, 

As  kindly  thoughts,  when  clotlied  in  words 
Of  kindred  kindliness,  will  rest 

Freighted  with  power  to  soothe  and  cheer 
The  weary  pain  in  sorrow's  breast. 

And  so,  with  spring's  rich  fragrance  fraught 
The  golden-winged  hours  depart, 

And  peace,  like  twilight  dew  distilled, 
Falls  softly  on  the  dreamer's  heart. 


"  GOLDEN  SANDSr 

INSCRIBED    TO   SISTER   MARY    CORNELIA,    S.N.D. 


GAZING  back  o'er  the  years  now  as  swiftly  receding 
As  clouds  float  at  even  to  far-away  lands, 
I  take  from  Time's  glass  the  bright  moments  passed 
with  thee, 
To  hold,  as  a  treasure,  my  life's  golden  sands. 

They  gleam  on  the  shrine  where  fond  Memory  has 
laid  them, 

Dear  moments  that  sped  all  too  swiftly  away — 
Links  forged  in  the  chain  of  a  friendship  undying. 

Which  absence  nor  distance  can  bow  to  its  sway. 

They  have  brightened  dark  days  till  the  shadows  de- 
parted, 

Left  the  seal  of  their  power  impressed  on  my  heart ; 
And  my  soul  thrills  again,  as  I  read,  with  the  pleasure 

And  peace  which  thy  presence  could  ever  impart — 

A  ray  of  the  peace  that  abideth  for  ever 

Where  the  white  dove  is  brooding  with  unruffled 
wing, 
And  the  cares  of  the  world  may  not  enter  to  sadden 
The  soul  of  His  chosen,  the  bride  of  the  King. 
214 


GOLDEN  SANDS. 


215 


I  turn  o'er  the  leaves  of  the  volume  before  me, 

Where   precious   gems    gleam   in    the   red    gold  of 
thought ; 
But  less  brightly  they  shine  in  the  sight  of  the  Maker 
Than  the  marvels  thy  teachings  on  hundreds  have 
wrought. 

In  numberless  homes  by  the  tranquil  Pacific, 

From  the  north  to  the  south  of  this  beautiful  land, 

In  all  ranks  of  life,  unto  blossom  and  fruitage 

Are  springing  the  seeds  that  were  sown  by  thy  hand — 

Seeds  of  Faith,  Hope,  and  Love,  seeds  of  knowledge 
and  duty. 

That  are  strengthening  the  spirit  and  firing  the  brain 
To  walk  'neath  the  shade  of  the  Cross  without  swerving. 

And  carry  the  banner  of  life  without  strain. 

In  the  triumphs  they  win  o'er  the  world  and  its  legions, 
In  the  numbers  who  strengthen  home's  duty-gemmed 
bands. 

In  their  love,  fond  and  grateful,  for  ever  outpouring 
For  thee,  lies  a  wealth  of  the  soul's  "Golden  Sands." 


GOD  CARES  FOR  ALL, 


BEHOLD  the  lilies  of  the  field— 
They  labor  not,  nor  do  they  spin  ; 
Yet  Solomon's  most  royal  robes 

Wore  not  the  lily's  beauteous  sheen." 
So  God's  eternal  words  declare  ; 
And  lo !    he  holds  them  in  his  care. 

The  grasses  of  the  plain  arise, 

Grow,  bud  and  bloom,  fulfil  their  part ; 

And  Christ's  dear  words  of  mercy  fall 
To  blossom  in  the  human  heart : 

For  in  his  love  he  guards  us  all. 

And  stoops  to  lift  us  when  we  fall. 

The  birds  that  through  the  trackless  air 
Wing  their  swift  flight  from  land  to  land, 

Find  food  and  shelter  everywhere. 
Made  ready  by  the  Master's  hand  ; 

And  He  who  guides  them  in  their  flight 

Points  out  to  us  the  path  of  right. 

For  more  than  birds  or  grass  or  flowers, 
That  gladden  in  his  gracious  sight. 

Are  our  immortal  souls,  where  shine 
A  spark  of  Heaven's  celestial  light — 

Our  souls,  for  whose  off'ences   dread 

Christ's  blood  on  Calvary's  mount  was  shed.    ] 
216 


GOD   CARES  FOR  ALL,  2  I  7 

Most  precious  Blood !  the  priceless  key 
That  opened  wide  the  shining  gates  ; 

Thoughts  of  the  kingdom  bought  with  thee 
The  faithful  heart  with  joy  elates — 

Thoughts  of  the  home  God's  loving  care 

Hath  given  for  us  to  seek  and  share. 

O  blessed  heritage  prepared 

By  Mercy's  hand  for  one  and  all; 

Thrice  holy  love  whose  shield  extends 
Alike  above  the  great  and  small ; 

O  happiness,  that  all  may  claim 

The  shelter  of  our  Father's  name. 


THE  TRUE  COMFORTER, 


WHEN  the  sorrows  of  earth,  when  the  shadows 
of  woe, 
Fall  dark  o'er  the  path  which  we  tread, 
When  the  sunlight  of  love's  rare  illumining  glow 

Is  lost  in  the  grave  of  our  dead, 
In  that  dread  hour  of  anguisli,  where,  where  shall  we 

turn  ? 
What  pillar  of  light  through  the  darkness  discern  ? 

Vain  then  is  the  comfort  that  friendship  can  give  ; 

Each  hope  that  we  trusted  seems  fading  away ; 
We  shrink  from  the  years  we  are  destined  to  live. 

As  we  mourn  o'er  the  dear  one  death  summoned 
away, 
And,  sadly  but  trustfully  looking  from  earth, 
Fix  our  gaze  upon  Heaven,  true  land  of  our  birth. 

There  is  hope,  there  is  peace,  there  is  comfort  divine, 
There  love  that  ne'er  fails  us,  there  hope  that  ne'er 
dies ; 
There  the  sore,  stricken  spirit  no  longer  shall  pine, 

There  joys  pure  and  lasting  await  us.     The  skies' 
Cloudless   arch  bending  o'er  us  but  veils  from    our 

sight 
A  realm  of  pure  and  unending  delight. 
218 


THE    TRUE   COMFORTER. 


Thus  I   mused  as    I    stood  by    the    flower-wreathed 
mound 
That  hid  from  my  gaze  the  dear  face  of  a  friend, 
And  heard  through  the  calm,  breathless  azure  around 

The  prayers  of  the  Church  for  his  spirit  ascend, 
While  parting  and  sorrow,  and  heartache  and  care, 
Seemed  floating  to   Heaven    on   the  white  wings  of 
prayer  ; 

There  to  rest  in  the  light  that  for  ever  flows  down 
From  ihy  fountain  of  mercy,  O  merciful  Lord ! 

Whence  the  dews  of  thy  pity  shall  rest  as  a  crown 
On  the  hearts  where  the  vials  of  sorrow,  outpoured, 

With  bitterness  floodeth  tlieir  fond  souls  who  weep 

For   the    loved    one    reposing   in    death's    dreamless 
sleep. 

Dear  ones  rendered  desolate,  God  is  your  stay  ; 

He  is  mercy  and  love,  the  one  only  true  friend  ; 
Trust,  trust  in  him  ever,  and,  safe  'neath  his  sway, 

Press  onward  and  upward  till  life's  day  shall  end, 
And   in    Heaven's  shining  courts   he   will    give   you 

again 
The  loved   ones  whose  loss  rends  your  bosom  with 
pain. 


SAN  DIEOaS  CENTENARY. 


THE  waters  throb  along  the  beach, 
Chanting  their  summer  roundelay, 
Where  San  Diego's  quaint  old  town 

Looks  out  across  its  quiet  bay; 
The  hazy  glamour  o'er  the  land, 

And  on  the  hills  tlie  azure  glow. 

The  veil  of  beauty  which  they  wore 

To-day  one  hundred  years  ago : 

One  hundred  years  ago  to-day, 

When  Spain's  proud  banner,  floating  free, 
Proclaimed  the  advent  of  the  faith 

Of  Ciirist  beside  the  western  sea; 
When  Padre  Serra  and  his  band — 

Fresh  from  the  desert  rude  and  wild 
Where  savage  man  alone  had  trod, 

Where  vegetation  never  smiled, 

Where,  on  the  tempest-scathed  rocks 

And  sandy  hollows  parched  and  dry, 
In  deathless  characters  are  traced 

The  anger  of  the  God  on  higli — 
Wearied  with  journeying  many  a  day, 

But  filled  with  zeal's  celestial  glow, 
Raised  here  the  Cross  to  mark  the  land 

As  Christ's  one  hundred  years  ago. 


SAJV  D I  EG  as  CENTENARY.  221 

Here  rang  the  anthems  of  their  praise, 

In  hymns  of  worship  sweetly  poured, 
While,  blending  with   their  earthly  strains, 

The  angels  sang  in  sweet  accord. 
Banner  and  pennon   waving  free 

Lit  up  the  summer's  arid  plain, 
Floating  above   the  flashing  arms 

That  girt  the  warrior  sons  of  Spain. 


For,  blended   in  the  holy  cause 

Of  love  and  faith,  together  came 
Friar  and  soldier,  each  to  work 

For  Christ's  deaf  glory  and  his  fame — 
Friar  and  soldier,  each  to  work 

Together,  yet  not  interfere 
With  cither's  task  to  train,  to  rule, 

To  guard,  to  guide,  to  bless,  to  cheer. 

And  thus  they  wrought.     Fame's  pages   hold 

The  record  high  of  many  a  deed. 
Yet  bards  are  silent  in   his  praise 

Whose  life  deserves  their  noblest  meed — 
Padre  Junipero,  whose  name 

A  golden  halo  crowns  our  land. 
Though  time  and  ruin  now  deface 

The  temples  builded  by  his  hand. 

But  in  the  fallow  soil  he  sowed 

The  flowers  of  Faith  have  blossomed  fair ; 
The  cross  he  loved  with  such  a  love 

From  many  a  spire  now  cleaves    the  air. 


2  22  SAN  DIEGO'S  CENTENARY. 

His  prayers  are  answered  :  o'er  the  land 
Religion  daily  brighter  glows, 

And  God  has  bade  this  wilderness 
Blush  with  the  beauty  of  the  rose. 


Still  faithful  in  tlie  path  he  traced, 

The  soldiers  of  the  Saviour  tread 
Through  cities  fair  or  deserts  waste, 

Where'er  the  foot  of  man  has  sped ; 
Gathering  the  harvest  from  the  seed 

Thy  sons,  Saint  Francis,  sowed  of  old, 
Leading  wiih  tenderest  care  and  love 

The  strayed  souls  back  unto  the  fold  ; 

Bearing  Love's  balm  to  all  who  sink 

Oppressed  by  sorrow,  sin,  or  care; 
Making  God's  desecrated  fanes 

Smile  in  glad  beauty,  rich  and  rare. 
And  thus,  in  love  and  faith  and  trust, 

Another  people  stand  to-day 
Where  San  Diego's  quaint  old  town 

Looks  out  across  its  quiet  bay  ; 

The  summer's  glamour  o'er  the  land. 

And  on  the  hills  the  azure  glow, 
The  veil  of  beauty  which  they  wore 

To-day  one  hundred  years  ago. 
Where  then  a  few  brave  spirits  came 

To  rear  the  Cross,   to  plant  the  seed 
Of  Faith,  now  hundreds  throng  around 

Of  every  race  and  clime  and  creed. 


SAN  DIEGO'S  CENTENARY. 


223 


But  o'er  them  Spain's  proud  banner  flings 

No  more    its  folds  upon  the  breeze  ; 
Her  day  is  dark,  lier  crown  is  lost, 

Her  empire  over  by  our  seas. 
Yet  homage  to  her  sons  whose  task 

Is  still  to  loftier  heights  to  guide 
The  souls  of  men  ;  their  fervent  zeal 

We  honor  with  a  loyal  pride. 

As  now  our  holy  Bishop  stands 

'Mid  prayer-wreaths  rising  to  God's  throne, 
And  consecrates  with  solemn  rite 

And  lays  with  praise  the  corner-stone — 
The  corner-stone  on  which  will  rise 

A  temple  to  Our  Lady's  name, 
Where  faithful  hearts  with  filial  love 

May  come  her  tender  care  to  claim. 

And  honor  to  the  happy  thought 

Which  binds  to-day  the  links  of  years 
With  this  memorial  hour  which  breathes 

Of  present  joy,  of  vanquished  fears — 
This  hour  which  bids  us  turn  again 

To  the  bright  morn  of  long  ago, 
Which  unto  California  gave 

Faith's  heavenly  light.  Truth's  fadeless  glow. 


THANKSGIVING  HYMN. 


FOR  all  the  beauty  of  the  passing  year, 
Its  music,  mirth,  and  glee, 
Its  song  of  birds  and  wealth  of  blooms,  we  give 
Our  tlianks,  O  Lord,  to  thee. 

For  days  that  rose  in  clear,  unclouded  calm. 

For  peace  on  land  and  sea, 
For  breezes  fraught  with  health's  electric  thrills, 

We  give  our  thanks  to  thee. 

For  plenty  in  the  harvest's  bounteous  yield, 

The  orchard's  laden  tree. 
And  the  full  fruitage  of  the  purpled  vine. 

We  give  our  thanks  to  thee. 

For  joys  that  crowned  our  lives  with  summer's  glow, 

Fervid  and  deep  and  strong, 
Till  all  the  earth  around  about  us  seemed 

As  kindling  into  song; 

For  Sorrow's  hand  which  smote  with  cruel  blow 

Our  hearts'  most  tender  chord, 
But  led  us  through  the  darkness  of  Grief's  night 

Nearer  to  thee,  O  Lord; 

For  countless  graces  poured  into  our  lives 

And  strewed  around  our  way, 
For  thoughts  that  lightened  earth's  oppressive  cares, 

We  thank  thee.  Lord,  to-day. 
224 


WELCOME  TO   THE  FIREMEN, 


WELCOME  !  welcome  !     This  our  greeting, 
Gallant  Firemen,  unto  you, 
Soldiers  of  our  land's  best  army. 
Heroes  tried  and  proven   true. 
Brighter,  greener  are  your  laurels 

Than  the  war-scarred  veterans  wear"; 
Nobler  is  the  ceaseless  conflict 
You  are  called  upon   to  share. 

Let  the  bugle's  ringing  ciiallenge 

And  the  loud  drum's  fierce  tattoo 
Summon  them  to  martial  glory: 

Loftier  task  awaiteth  you. 
For  their  fame  is  won  by  slaughter. 

Ruined  home  and  bloody  grave, 
While  your  mission,  dauntless  spirits. 

Is  to  comfort  and  to  save. 

When  across  the  solemn  midnight 

Clangs  the  loud  alarum-bell, 
And  the  hearts  of  startled  listeners 

Hear  in  it  hope's  funeral  knell  ; 
As  the  city  wakes  in  horror 

At  the  tidings  fell  and  dire, 
As  from  lip  to  lip  goes  echoing 

The  dread  word  of  portent,  "Fire!" 

225 


2  26  WELCOME  TO    THE  FIREMEN. 

While  the  awe-struck  eye  beholdetli, 

Spreading  broad  and  red  and  high, 
Sheets  of  flame  like  demon  banners 

Flaunted   'gainst  the  starry  sky  ; 
When  they  think  what  lives  imprisoned 

May  fall  victims  to  its  rage — 
Manhood's  strength  and  woman's  glory, 

Helpless  youth  and  feeble  age — 


How  their  hearts  recoil   in  anguish, 

And  their  trembling  lips  are  dumb, 
Till  they  hear  your  cheers  resounding, 

And  the  cry,  "They  come!  they  come!" 
When  the  haunts  but  late  so  silent 

Echo  to  the  rush  of  feet 
And  the  clatter  of  the  engines 

Dashing  wildly  down  tlie  street. 

Then  the  gathering  throngs  grow  eager, 

And  with  fervent  spirits   pray 
Many  a  pure  and  sweet  "  God  bless  you  ! ' 

As  you  pass  upon  your  way. 
Who  will  mount  the  lifted  ladders 

Where  the  fierce  flames  hiss  and  leap? 
Who  will  save  the  lives  fast  sinking 

Into  stupor's  deadly  sleep  ? 

Ah !    no  Fireman's  heart  e'er  faltered 

At   the  sound  of  duty's  call, 
Though  his  pathway  leads  through  danger 

Which  the  stoutest  might  appall. 


WELCOME    TO    THE  FIREMEN.  2  2^ 

You  have  trod  the  smoke- filled  chamber, 
You  have  dared  the  death  of  flame, 

When,  from  walls  that  reeled  and  tottered, 
Down  the  blazing  roof-tree  came. 

You  have  rescued  lives  most  precious, 

Wife  or  husband,  sire  or  son, 
And  a  wealth  of  love  undying 

From  our  people  you  have  won. 
Yet  you  passed  not  through  unscathed — 

Tenderest  homage  do  we  yield 
To  our  brother  Firemen  lying 

Dead  on  honor's  battle-field. 

And  again  we  breathe  our  welcome. 

Warm  and  heartfelt,  fond  and  true — 
Welcome  from  our  smiling  city, 

Gallant  Firemen,  unto  you. 
Welcome!    welcome!    ever  welcome! 

Hear  us  still  and  once  again : 
Welcome,  Firemen  of  our  country, 

To  our  city  of  the  plain  ! 


TO  A  FRIEND. 


''pHEY  tell  us  that  friendship  can  only 
1       Be  perfect  when  blessed  day  by  day 
By  the  smiles  of  the  dear  ones  we  cherish  ; 

That  in  absence  it  fadeth  away ; 
That  those  whom  we  love  with  most  ardor 

Will  bow  to  the  rulings  of  change, 
And  time,  with  its  varying  fortunes, 

Have  power  true  hearts  to  estrange. 

But,  dear  friend,  though  the  years  in  their  passage 

Have  given  us  of  sorrow  and  joy. 
We  have  felt  that  the  bond  of  thy  friendship 

Was  something  they  could  not  destroy; 
And  often  when  shadows  were  darkest 

They  have  fled  from  the  light  of  thy  smile, 
And  hours  that  else  had  been  dreary 

Thy  gift  has  had  power  to  beguile. 

And  then  as  we  read  we  have  likened 
Thy  heart  to  those  women  whose  lives 

The  author  has  drawn  with  such  beauty 
As  models  for  mothers  and  wives — 

The  "  Heroic  Women  "  whose  story 
Is  written  on  history's  page, 

And  fills  with  an  unfading  glory 

Each  kingdom  and  station  and  age. 

228 


TO  A   FRIEND. 


229 


For  life  in  its  every-day  trials 

Has  need  of  a  courage  as  high 
As  that  whicli,  when  bugles  are  pealing, 

Nerves  warriors  to  battle  and  die — 
A  courage  as  high,  ay,  and  higher: 

A  courage  supported  by  love, 
A  courage  which  looks  for  its  guerdon 

In  the  realms  of  glory  above. 

Such  courage  is  thine.     May  its  ardor 

Continue  to  fire  thy  soul, 
And  the  angels  of  Peace  and  of  Pleasure 

Tiiy  life  and  its  fortunes  control. 
Till  the  hour  when,  the  earth-shadows  lifted, 

In  the  glow  of  the  "  Beautiful  Land  " 
Thou  shalt  listen  to  sweet  words  of  welcome 

From  that  gentle  and  heroic  band. 


A  FAIR  SPRING  DA  Y, 


TIS  March,  but  the  voice  of  the  storm  is  hushed 
No  more  with  a  quivering  wail 
Do  the  leafless  oaks  of  the  woodland  bend 
Their  crests  to  the  sweeping  gale. 

But  the  sun  looks  down  from  a  cloudless  sky, 
And  the  green  grass  seeks  to  hide 

The  gaping  wounds  in  the  valley's  breast. 
Which  were  torn  by  the  rushing  tide 

When  the  river,  leaping  its  narrow  banks, 

Bearing  ruin  in  its  train, 
Through  the  solemn  hours  of  the  stormy  night 

Sped  over  the  fertile  plain. 

The  air  is  filled  with  the  wild  birds'  song 

In  ringing  notes  of  glee, 
And  the  humming-bird  flits  from  flower  to  flower 

With  the  butterfly  and  the  bee. 

Lo  !  charmed  by  the  sceptre  which  Flora  waves, 

The  hill-tops  to  gold  now  turn. 
And  league  after  league  o'er  the  vale  we  behold 

Thy  fires,  Calandrinia,  burn  ! 

.  230 


A   FAIR   SPRING  DAY. 


231 


With  what  tender  voices  earth's  beauties  call 

To  the  inmost  heart  to-day, 
Pleading  for  praise  for  the  hand  that  strewed 

Such  blessings  around  our  way ! 

And  a  cloud  of  incense  is  wafted  up 
From  the  fragrant  gems  of  the  sod. 

Oh !  fair  as  a  dream  in  this  sweet  spring  glow 
Is  this  wondrous  footstool  of  God. 


rO  MRS.  M.  E.   B. 


SHALL  we  search  for  lofty  symbols, 
That  our  language  may  impart 
A  more  eloquent  portrayal 

To  the  feelings  of  ench  heart? 

Nay,  when  love  sincere  gives  greeting, 
Few  and  brief  the  words  it  says, 

But  what  wealth  of  sweet  emotions 
In  each  sentence  it  conveys  ! 

So,  dear  friend,  our  heartfelt  phrases 
Short  and  simple,  are  sincere, 

Voicing  the  deep  love  which  kindles 
The  fond  spirits  gathered  here — 

Voicing  all  the  grateful  feelings, 
All  the  friendship  warm  and  strong 

Won,  through  years  of  gentle  patience, 
By  thy  service  true  and  long. 

Morning's  dawn  or  sunset's  moments 
Found  thee  ever  at  thy  post. 

Urbane,  smiling,  genial,  courteous 
To  the  questioning,  troubling  host. 

Ever  faithful  unto  duty — 

Oh  !  no  loftier  meed  of  praise 

Crowns  at  last  the  victor  warrior 
Or  the  statesman's  weary  days. 
332 


TO  MRS.   J/.   E.    B. 


233 


Ever  faithful  unto  duty, 

Ever  thouglnful,  ever  kind — 
Thus,  dear  friend,  thy  name  for  ever 

Will  in  memory  be  enshrined, 

And  the  years  before  us  stretching 
Find  our  friendship  warm  and  true. 

While  bright  blessings  round  thy  pathway 
Daily  added  joys  renew. 

Oh  !  we  fain  would  bring  a  token 

Worthy  of  the  love  we  bear 
And  the  gratitude  unspoken 

It  is  ever  ours  to  share — 

Something  that  would  mutely  render 

Praise  for  duty  nobly  done, 
Better  than  the  gift  we  tender. 

Take  with  it  the  hearts  thou'st  won  : 

Take  their  warm  appreciation. 

Take  their  friendship,  love,  and  praise, 
And  their  prayers  tliat  God  will  bless  thee 

And  make  beauteous  all  thy  days. 


WAITING. 


WHEN  the  dead  leaves  drifted  lie, 
And  the  long  moss  streamers  swing 
To  the  passing  zephyr's  sigh ; 

While  the  blackbird  plumes  his  wing, 

And  the  blithe  lark's  merry  note 

Fills  with  music  all  the  air — 
Sounds  that  skyward  float  and  float 

From  the  valley's  bosom  fair; 

When  the  sycamores  arise 

In  their  mantles  brown  and  gold, 

Foreheads  lifted  to  the  skies 
Like  the  giant  kings  of  old — 

Then  the  Winter's  sway  begins 

In  this  sunny  land  of  ours, 
And  liis  mighty  cohort  wins 

Refuge  in  the  Summer's  bowers. 

While  the  green  grass  starts  to  life 
O'er  the  valley  brown  and  sere, 

And  the  eartli  with  hope  is  rife 
For  the  coming  of  the  year, 

For  the  joys  that  will  elate, 
For  the  blessings  it  will  bring, 

Doth  the  land  in  patience  wait 
For  the  bridal  of  the  Spring. 


GREETING    TO    THE  PIONEERS, 


"  nPHERE'S   a  land    beyond  tlie  mountains  where 
1      perpetual  summer  reignetb, 
Where  the  soil  is  rich  and  fertile  and  the  air  is  soft 
and  bland, 
Where  the  wealth  of  field  and  forest  lieth   ready  to 

be  garnered 
•    As  the  whitening  grain  of  autumn  waits  the  mowers' 
sturdy  band." 


Thus  they  told  us  of  the  beauties  of  the  Queen  of  the 

Pacific, 
The   secrets   of    whose   vaults    of    gold   the   genii 

guarded  still ; 
Told  us  of  her  smiling  valleys  where  uncounted  herds 

were  roaming, 
:    Of  her  cloudless  skies  o'erarching  rocky  peak  and 

sloping  hill. 

Why,  the  legends  of  the  Orient  seemed  to  pale  before 
her  glories, 
And   with   youth's   enraptured    fancies    we   would 
often  sit  and  dream 
Of  a  life  of  calm  contentment,  dwelling  'mid  her  rare 
luxuriance, 
Like  the  Lotos-Eaters  resting  by  their  own  beloved 
stream 

235 


236  GREETING   TO    THE  PIONEERS. 

Then  the   cry  of   "Westward!"   sounded.     "West- 
ward ho  !  "  we  answered  blithely; 
And  we   trod  with   heart   undaunted   dreary  plain 
and  lone  defile, 

Till  we  passed  the  tall  Sierras,  and  for  many  a  league 
before  us 

Saw  this  land  of  our   adoption  in  her  bright  young 
beauty  smile. 


Here  we  rested,  toil  and  danger  'mid  those  tranquil 
scenes  forgotten. 
We  have  loved   her  as  a  mother  :   she  has  given  a 
mother's  care. 
She  has  blessed   us  with    all   blessings.   Pioneers  of 
California ; 
Who   could  win    a    richer    dowry  than  she    freely 
bids  us  share  .'' 


From  her  mountains'  rugged  fastness  golden  streams 
are  yearly  flowing, 
And  her  valleys  give  in  harvest  shining  stores  of 
golden  grain  ; 
While  her  vineyards,  sun-empurpled,  pour  for  us  the 
sparkling  nectar 
Which  might  lure  the  merry  Bacchus  here  to  linger 
with  his  train. 


And  to-day,  the  past  and  present  blending  fondly  in 
our  memories. 
Here  we  meet  witli  heartfelt  greeting,  cordial  smile, 
and  clasp  of  hand, 


GREETING    TO    THE  PIONEERS.  237 

Living  o'er  again  in  fancy  all  the  changes  years  liave 
witnessed 
Since  we  met  and  hailed  each  other  first  as  pilgrims 
in  this  land. 


Some  who  journeyed  then  amongst  us  have  been  sum- 
moned to  their  crowning  ; 
They  have  laid   aside  life's  burden,  all  its   duties 
nobly  sped  ; 
But   their   names  will  live  for  ever,    haloed    by  our 
hearts'  affections. 
Honor  to  their  fadeless  memory,  tears  and  reverence 
for  our  dead  ! 


Friends  of  years  !  the  friendship  plighted  in  the  long- 
ago  still  gloweth 
Fresh  and  fair  within  our  bosoms,  drawing  closer 
year  by  year 
The  brave  men  and  noble  women,  wearing  now  Time's 
silvery  colors 
'Neath  the  well-earned  honors  crowning  every  loyal 
Pioneer.  ^ 


By  the  dangers  met  and  vanquished,  by  the  sorrows 
shared  in  common, 
When,  as  brother  upon   brother,  we  for  sympathy 
relied 
Upon_ hearts  that  never  failed  us,  once  again  with  joy 
we  greet  you, 
Once  again  with   pleasant  converse  bridge  Time's 
chasm  deep  and  wide. 


238  GREETING    TO    THE  PIONEERS. 

Children  of  such  noble  parents,  may  their  bright  ex- 
ample lead  you 
Up  the  shining  paths  of  honor  to  the  land  whose 
cloudless  shore 
Is  the  goal   to  which  we  journey ;  there,  our  labors 
past  and  ended. 
We  shall  meet  in  joy  exultant — we  shall  meet  to 
part  no  more. 

May  the   days  that  wait  our  coming  in   tlie  future's 
shadowy  vistas 
Hold  for  us   the   priceless   treasure   of  your  great 
love,  warm  and  true  ; 
And   each  glad   reunion,  brothers,  find    us  still  un- 
changed and  faithful, 
Prompt  as  now  on  Friendship's  altar  early  pledges 
to  renew. 

May  the  blessings  of  our  Father — he  whose  guiding 
hand  extended 
Led  us  safe  o'er  sea  or  desert,  lonely  plain  or  rocky 
shore — 
Fall  upon  us,  O  my  brothers  !  and  our  lives  be  closely 
guarded, 
Safe  from  every  fear  and  danger,  in  His  love  for 
evermore  ! 


SUNRISE  IN  WINTER. 


THE  morning  herald  sounds  his  warning  trumpet, 
And  lo!   the  clouds  away 
From  hill  and  valley  roll,  while  earth  awaketh 
To  greet  the  dawning  day. 

Dim  shadows  cluster  'neath  the  leafless  woodlands, 

And  on  the  mountains   there 
Where  Santa  Anna  lifts  her  noble  forehead 

High   in  the  eastern  air. 

Round  her  behold  the  nimbus  of  the  Orient, 

And  o'er  her  lofty  head, 
Gleaming  and  glowing  in  rare,  rosy  splendor, 

A  crown  of  rubies   red — 

A  crown  as  brilliant  in  its  gorgeous  tinting 

As  if  the   heavenward  cry 
Of  blood  for  vengeance  pleading  had  been  painted 

Upon  the  cloudless  sky. 

But  lo !   the  sun  his  mighty , host  advances, 

And  in  mysterious  lines 
Flings  on  the  virgin  snows  of  lofty  hill-tops 

The   shadows  of  the  pines. 

XI  239 


240  SUNRISE  IN  WINTER. 

And  at  his  coming  Winter's  jewels,  scattered 

O'er  grassy  meads  below, 
Blaze  in  refulgent  splendor  ere  they  vanish 

Before  his  fervid  glow  ; 

While  farm  and  village  brighten  in  the  glory, 

And  far  the  noisy  hum 
Of  life  is  heard  where  late  all  nature  slumbered 

In  silence  cold  and  dumb. 


THE  LITTLE  HA  T  AND  SHOES, 


THEY  hang  upon  the  chamber-wall 
The  little  hat  and  shoes 
That  never  more  in  field  or  hall 
My  darling  boy  will  use. 

For  'neath  an  angel's  crown  of  ligKt 
The  fair  head  shines  to-day, 

And  safe  for  aye  the  tireless  feet 
That  cannot  go  astray. 

Ah!  when  I  touch  my  Bonnie's  hat 
My  eyes  with  tears  grow  dim, 

And  faiacy  paints  his  smiling  face 
Beneath  its  jaunty  brim. 

I  see  the  brow  so  pure  and  white, 
The  eyes  of  earnest  brown, 

And,  shining  in  the  sun's  soft  light, 
The  fair  hair  floating  down. 

O  mother-heart!     O 'mother-love  ! 

What  feelings  burn  and  glow, 
What  memories  of  the  cherished  one 

For  ever  lying  low ! 

24X 


242  THE  LITTLE  HAT  AND   SHOES. 

And  yet,  although  I  mourn  his  loss, 

I  feel  that  he  is  blessed, 
And  sin  or  care,  or  grief  or  pain, 

Can  never  mar  his  rest  ; 

For  'neath  an  angel's  crown  of  light 
His  fair  head  shines  to-day, 

And  safe  for  aye  the  little  feet 

That  through  heavenly  meadows  stray. 


I 

J 


TO  ANNIE, 


LO !  without  the  skies  are  misty, 
Cold  and  misty,  dull  and  gray; 
While  the  rain-sprites,  bent  on  pleasure, 
Move  in  mad  and  mischievous  measure, 
Whispering,  calling  from  the  tree-tops 
And  the  roofs  of  San  Jose. 

But  within  the  air  is  vocal 

With  the  merry  notes  of  glee,  _ 

And  no  dreamy  shades  are  drifting. 
For  each  cloud  of  care  uplifting 
Flies  before  the  voice  of  music, 

Or  of  laughter  ringing  free. 

What  to  us  the  wind's  low  moaning 
Or  the  Storm-King's  boding  strife, 
As  we  twine  joy's  threads  so  golden, 
Clasp  the  links  of  memories  olden — 
Memories  of  the  May  we  journeyed 
Side  by  side  the  path  of  life  ? 

Oh !  those  May  days,  bright  and  balmy, 

Linger  with  us  sweetly  still : 

Dreams  of  leafy  forest  alleys, 

Dreams  of  flower-gemmed  mountain  valleys. 

And  of  rambles  when  the  twilight 

Purpled  many  a  distant  hill. 
243 


24-1-  TO  ANNIE. 


Musing  thus,  I  pray  the  moments 

Of  thy  future,  Annie  dear, 
Ne'er  may  know  a  cloud  of  sorrow, 
But  the  light  of  each  to-morrow 
Shine  as  jewels  for  the  crowning 
Of  each  swiftly  passing  year. 


A    TOKEN. 

TO    SISTER    MARY    OF    ST.    GEORGE,    S.    N.    D. 


BRIGHT  with  no  wealth  of  Orient  pearls, 
No  precious  gems,  no  shining  gold. 
But  loftiest  type  of  love  and  faith, 

This  little  Cross  behold— 
Symbol  of  hope  beyond  compare, 
Key  of  the  treasures  which  we  share. 

'Twas  for  the  Cross,  in  days  of  old, 

The  Christian  warrior  died ; 
Nor  bribe  nor  threat  could  shake  his  trust 

In  Jesus  Crucified. 
Saint  George  !  true  flower  of  chivalry, 
Sealed  with  his  blood  his  loyalty — 

Saint  George,  the  valiant  knight  who  met 

The  dreaded  dragon  foe 
In  combat  close,  and  with  his  sword 

The  furious  beast  laid  low, 
Bidding  the  city's  terrors  cease. 
And  filling  it  with  joy  and  peace. 

And  you,  dear  friend,  his  client  here, 

Have  battled  long  and  well 
Against  the  hydra-headed  foe. 

Against  the  demon  fell 
Of  Ignorance,  whose  crushing  powe?" 
Would  rob  the  earth  of  Truth's  bright  dower. 


246  A    TOKEN. 


Yours  is  a  sterner  fight  than  his 
Who  heard  the  trumpet's  peal 

And  in  his  sinewy  fingers  felt 
The  electric  touch  of  steel ; 

Yours  is  the  hidden  martyr's  crown, 

His  the  world's  homage  and  renown. 

But  in  the  angel's  book  above 

The  record  shineth  fair — 
The  story  of  your  toil  for  those 

Committed  to  your  care, 
The  faithful  love,  the  patient  zeal, 
For  earthly  and  for  heavenly  weal. 

Oh  !  dear  unto  Christ's  Sacred  Heart, 

Most  precious  in  his  sight, 
Are  they  who  guide  the  steps  of  youth 

Unto  the  living  Light, 
And  with  good  counsel,  true  and  wise, 
Make  plain  the  pathway  to  the  skies. 

And  as  I  mark  Time's  sunset  hours 
Draw  closer  round  my  way, 

I  feel  the  lessons  of  your  life, 
Your  words  of  strength,  a  stay 

That  lifts  my  spirit  from  the  dust 

To  Heaven,  the  haven  of  our  trust. 

April  23,   1885. 


THE  ROBIN. 


AMONG  the  quiet  peasants  in  Brittany  they  tell 
This  legend  of  the  robin,  by  children  loved  so 
well — 
This  legend  of  the  robin,  whose  merry  accents  ring 
Through   every  glade  and  covert  sweet  welcome  to 
the  Spring. 

They  say  that  when  the  Saviour,  to  Calvary's  rugged 

crest 
Bearing   his  cross,    moved    forward,    sore,    wounded, 

and  oppressed, 
When  foemen  thronged  around  him,  and  friends  fled 

far  in  fear, 
Above  the  angry  multitude  a  robin  hovered  near, 

And,  reckless  of  the  tumult  and  angry  cries  of  scorn, 
From  out  Christ's  bleeding  forehead  it  snatched  one 

cruel  thorn  ; 
Then  o'er  the  robin's  bosom  the  sacred  blood  flowed 

down. 
And  with  its  ruby  tinting  dyed  the  plumes  of  russet 

brown. 

And  evermore  the  sweet  bird  bore  upon  its  tender 

breast 
The  warm  hue  of  the  Saviour's  blood,  a  shining  seal 

impressed. 
Hence  dearest  to  the  peasants'   heart,  'mid  birds  of 

grove  and  plain, 
They  hold  the  robin,  which  essayed    to   soothe  the 

Saviour's  pain. 


A.  CHRISTIAN  HERO. 


[Suggested  by  the  perusal  of  the  Life  of  Right  Rev.  J.  N.  Neumann, 
C.SS.R.,  and  inscribed  to  Rev.  H.  Giesen,  C.SS.R.] 


THE  laurels  of  the  hero, 
The  martyr's  shining  palm, 
The  sage's  wreathed  oak-leaves 

For. one  so  wise  and  calm. 
The  heart's  most  tender  homage, 
Sweeter  than  words  can  frame, 
For  memories  undying — 

Are  twined  around  his  name. 

Great  heart  where  love  celestial 

In  quenchless  radiance  burned, 
Whose  thoughts  and  aspirations. 

To  Heaven  alone  were  turned ; 
Who  'mid  earth's  many  children 

Accounted  himself  least, 
Yet  wore  its  noblest  title — 

God's  consecrated  Priest. 

Hunger  and  cold  and  labor, 

Dangers  by  sea  and  land. 
Hatred  and  stern  privation 

Leagued  'gainst  him  hand-in-hand; 
But,  clad  in  faith's  strong  armor, 

With  childlike  patience  sweet 
He  laid  his  heavy  burden 

Down  at  the  Saviour's  feet, 
248 


A    CHRISTIAN  HERO.  249 

Then  rose  refreshed  and  strengthened 

Life's  duties  to  fulfil, 
In  sunshine  or  in  shadow 

Owning  his  Master's  will. 
For  him  no  cross  too  heavy, 

No  toil  but  seemed  as  light, 
If  but  one  straying  spirit 

Came  back  to  truth  and  light. 

How  thrills  tlie  soul  on  reading 

That  miracle  sublime 
Of  the  bleeding  Host  reproaching 

The  apostate  for  his  crime. 
When  He  who  died  to  save  us, 

Who  dwells  with  us  for  aye. 
Pitying  the  erring  wanderer, 

Revealed  Himself  that  day  ! 

True  son  of  Saint  Alphonsus, 

With  graces  richly  blessed, 
The  first-born  of  the  Order  * 

Within  the  favored  West — 
The  first-born  of  the  Order  ; 

And  well-won  honors  came 
To  add  a  Bishop's  merits 

To  his  unclouded  fame. 

Though  few  the  years  God  left  him 

To  lead  his  people  here, 
So  careful  was  he  ever 

Of  souls  to  Christ  so  dear, 

*  Right  Rev.  Bishop  Neumann  was  the  first  oiovice  of  the  Redemptorist 
Order  in  America  to  make  the  religious  vows. 


250  A    CHRISTIAN  HERO. 

Each  thought,  each  deed,  each  moment 
Through  every  passing  day, 

Was  given  to  prayer  and  labor 
For  those  beneath  his  sway. 

Thus,  conning  his  life's  pages, 

With  love's  pure  lessons  rife, 
I  thank  God  for  the  blessings 

That  crowned  his  servant's  life, 
And  beg  the  holy  Bishop, 

Who  now  before  him  stands, 
To  lift  for  us  in  pleading 

His  consecrated  hands. 

Mossy  Woodland,  March,  1886. 


SUNSHINE  AND  SHADOW. 


DAY  after  day  we  hear,  with  inward  shuddering, 
Tlie  death-bell's  solemn  toll, 
Marking  the  exit  from  its  earthly  dwelling 
Of  an  immortal  soul. 

Day  after  day  the  brightest  links  are  broken 

That  form  the  chain  of  life, 
As  from  our  closely  clinging  arms  are  taken 

Parent  or  child  or  wife. 

Day  after  day  we  feel  the  cold  breath  blowing 

From  out  the  opened  tomb, 
And  the  Death  Angel's  pinions  waving  softly 

In  sunshine  or  in  gloom. 

And  yet  through  life's  unceasing  round  of  duties 

We  smile  and  pass  along, 
Marking  some  saddening  note  of  lamentation 

In  every  voice  of  song  ; 

Hearing  the  organ's  rolling  notes  of  triumph 

Where  late  the  requiem  sighed, 
Looking  on  lips,  that  quivered  o'er  the  dying, 

Smile-wreathed  to  greet  a  bride. 

We  drink  the  perfume  of  the  wildwood  blossoms 

Blown  by  on  every  gale. 
And  think  of  one  who  in  the  by-gone  summers 

Trod  with  us  through  the  dale. 
251 


252  SUNSHINE  AND   SHADOW. 

The  tiniest  flower  that  raises  up  its  petals 

To  gaze  upon  the  sky, 
The  kingly  laurel  lifting  up  his  forehead 

Upon  the  hill-tops  high — 

Each  scene  we  tread  recalls  to  us  the  memory 

Of  loved  ones  passed  away 
From  the  dark  shadow  of  this  earthly  valley 

To  God's  eternal  day. 


TO  FANNIE  R. 


LOVE,  wandering  through  the  garden  bowers, 
Toyed  idly  with  each  glowing  bloom 
And  said  :  "  For  me  the  fairest  flowers 

Pour  forth  their  delicate  perfume  ; 
For  me  each  tiny  bud   was  made, 
For  me  they  bloom,  for  me  they  fade. " 

"Nay,"  Friendship  cried,  "the  rose's  blush, 
The  lilac's  glow  to  thee  I  yield  ; 

The  warmer  tints  of  Flora's  brush 
Wear  thou  upon  thy  gleaming  shield; 

But  lo  !  she  bids  her  fairies  twine 

Sweet  blooms  to  lay  upon  my  shrine. 

"  The  pansies,  purple,  blue,  and  gold, 
The  violets,   darlings   of  the  year, 

The  sweet  forget-me-nots,  I  hold 

To  Friendship  consecrate  and  dear." 

And  these  the  offerings  which  I  make  : 

Take  them  and  wear  them  for  my  sake. 


DEAR  MOTHERLAND  ! 


0  MOTHERLAND  !  so  long  by  tyrants  stricken, 
So  long  by  chains  weighed  down, 
From  hand  and  brow  the  cruel  stranger  wrested 
Thy  sceptre  and  thy  crown  ; 

Laid  waste  thy  children's  homes  by  hill  and  valley, 

Left  town  and  village  bare  ; 
Gave  to  the  beasts  thy  broad  fields,  once  so  fertile, 

Gave  to  the  birds  of  air 

Grim    heaps    of    slain — sons   whom    thy   love    had 
cherished, 

And  who,  with  sword  in  hand, 
On  many  a  hard-fought  field  for  thy  dear  honor 

Fell  'neath  the  foeman's  brand. 

Then — direst  wrong  to  thee,  O  Mother  Erin  ! — 

God's  fanes  they  overthrew  ; 
And  at  the  altar,  in  their  holy  vestments. 

His  ministers  they  slew. 

For  at  their  posts  thy  pastors  stood  undaunted — 

Bishop  and  monk  and  priest — 
Gathering  again  the  flock  the  wolves  had  scattered. 

Spreading  the  Mystic  Feast 


DEAR  MOTHERLAND  I  255 

In  hidden  caves  amid  the  mountains'  fastness, 

Or  by  the  sounding  sea, 
Where  with  warm,  filial  love  thy  sons  uplifted 

The  Sacred  Host  for  thee. 

They  with  their  blood  bore  witness  to  their  teaching — 

Blood  which  thy  own  green  sod 
Drank  in  red  torrents  when  thy  sainted  heroes 

Died  for  their  faith  in  God. 

And  not  in  vain  flowed  out  that  crimson  current, 

As  all  thy  records  show  : 
It  fed  the  tree  of  Faith  with  quickening  nurture  ; 

It  fired  with  fervent  glow 

Thy  children's  hearts  through  years  of  bitter  suffering. 

Of  persecution  dire, 
Writliing  'neath  wrong  and  rapine,  force  and  treachery, 

Tortures  by  sword  and  fire  ; 

The  weary  days  dragged  out  in  dungeons  dreary, 

Each  woe  thy  history  paints, 
The  crown  of  thorns  wliich  pierced  in  glorifying 

Thy  forehead,  Isle  of  Saints  ! 

Not  thine  the  crowning  joy  of  happy  mothers ; 

Far  from  thy  doors  to-day, 
With  hearts  that  ache  with  an  unconquered  yearning, 

Thy  hapless  children  stray. 

Not  thine  to  clieer  them  as  a  mother  cheereth, 

Not  thine  their  joys  to  know. 
But  thine  to  share  their  hope,  strong  and  undying. 

For  freedom  here  below. 


256  DEAR  MOTHERLAND  I 

Freedom  for  thee  ! — such  freedom  as  shall  quicken 

Thy  pulses  as  of  old, 
When  o'er  thy  hills,  now  desolate  and  stricken, 

Will  shine  the  age  of  gold  ; 

When  from  thy  spires,  once  more  to  Heaven  uplifted, 

The  joyous  bells  shall  ring. 
And  earth  re-echo  to  the  grand  "  Te  Deum  " 

Thy  own  true  bards  will  sing. 

1874. 


IN  THE  DA  WN. 


THERE'S  a  voice  in  the  air 
Where  the  clouds  drift  along 
On  the  wings  of  the  breeze  : 
'Tis  a  cadence  of  song 
That  thrilleth  aloft  at  the  gates  of  the  day, 
As  though  kindled  to  life  by  the  dawn's  earliest'ray, 
And,  down  in  a  torrent  of  melody  falling, 
Hark  !  hark  to  the  voice  of  the  meadow-lark  calling. 

As  his  summons  rings  clear, 
Lo  !  his  brethren  behold 
Soar  up  far  and  near 

From  their  nests  on  the  wold. 
And  hither  and  thither,  aloft  and  alow, 
Now  answering,  now  blending,  their  mingled  notes 

flow, 
A  shower  of  music  like  benisons  falling 
All  over  the  earth,  as  the  sweet  larks  are  calling. 


BRIDAL   WISHES, 


MAY  the  Angel  of  Love  on  your  pathway  attend, 
Never  veiling  his  splendor  or  soaring  in  flight, 
And  into  your  hearts  his  best  blessings  descend. 

Ever  rich  in  their  splendor  and  pure  in  their  light. 
Rejoicing  go  forth  on  life's  pathway  untried, 

Linked  heart  unto  heart  by  that  magical  band. 
Type  of  union  unending,  whose  circle  to-day 

Laid  its  fetter  of  love,  gentle  Bride,  on  your  hand. 
In  the  future  which  waiteth  your  coming  may  joy 

Imprint  on  the  hours  her  seal  of  pure  bliss, 
Nerving  you  witli  new  zeal,  till  the  world  above 

Enters  into  each  pleasure  God  gives  you  in  this. 

Blessing  all  with  your  happiness,  blessing  and  blessed, 
Dear  Cousins,  I  pray  that  your  future  may  be 

Most  rich  in  each  gift  by  God's  chosen  possessed, 
In  peace  richly  dowered  and  from  sorrow  set  free ; 

Loving  each  with  a  love  which  no  shadow  can  mar  ; 
Loving  on  till  the  end  with  an  undying  love, 

Ever  faithful  and  fond,  ever  gentle  and  true, 

J    Reflecting  the  peace  of  the  world  above. 
258 


GLORY  TO  GOD, 


THERE  is  a  strain  of  worship 
Resounding  evermore 
By  mountain  and  by  moorland, 
By  woodland  and  by  shore. 

The  stars  that  cross  the  heavens, 
A  bright,  harmonious  throng  ; 

The  rivers  rushing  seaward 
In  currents  deep  and  strong  ; 

The  voices  of  the  zephyrs. 
The  thunder's  solemn  tone, 

The  deep,   unceasing  murmur 
Of  ocean's  monotone  ; 

The  seasons'  march  perpetual. 
The  myriad  wild  birds'  strains 

That  ring  through  forest  arches, 
That  echo  o'er  the  plains — 

All  chant  the  self-same  chorus, 
All  hymn  the  song  of  praise 

To  God,  whose  love  unceasing 
Crowns  all  our  nights  and  days. 

Shall  man  alone,  ungrateful,  ^ 
Refuse  to  lend  his  voice. 

And  in  sweet  Alleluias 

With  Nature's  choirs  rejoice  ? 
359 


26o  GLORY   TO   GOD. 

Nay,  praise  unto  the  Maker, 
Sweet  praise  from  morn  till  night, 

And  thanks  for  all  the  blessings 
That  fill  our  lives  with  light, 

With  worship  and  thanksgiving 
Win  in  God's  home  a  part ; 

For  dearly  doth  he  cherish 
Each  fond  and  grateful  heart. 


TO  RT.  REV,  EUGENE  a  CONN  ELL,  D,D., 
BISHOP  OFJOPPA, 

CONGRATULATION    ON    HIS    SILVER    JUBILEE. 


COUNTLESS  friends  to-day  are  breathing  words 
of  sweet  congratulation 
On  the   glad    and   glorious   advent   of  thy  Silver 
Jubilee, 
Joying  with  thee  in  the  blessings  which  have  crowned 
thy  zealous  labors 
Since  fond  hearts  first  hailed  thee  Bishop  of  thy 
wide-extended  see — 

Crowned  thy  years  of  faithful  labor,  years  whose  mo- 
ments drew  thee  closer. 
Ever  closer,  to  the  Master  whose  blessed  trust  'twas 
thine  to  keep, 
Pastor  of  the  souls  so  precious  to  the  wounded  Heart 
of  Jesus ; 
Shepherd  who,  o'er  mount  and  desert,  sought  afar 
thy  straying  sheep ; 

Noble  pioneer,  who  bravely  dared  the  dangers  and 
the  trials 
Strewn  so  thickly  in  the  pathway  of  the  missionary 
priest. 
Thine  the  victory,  thine  the  laurels,  thine  the  crown- 
ing, faithful  servant 
Who  hath  spread  for  hungering  thousands  love's 

sweet  Eucharistic  feast ; 
261 


262      TO  RT.  REV.  EUGENE  0' CON  NELL,  D.D. 

Who  hath  led   to   smiling  pastures,  watered    by  the 
streams  of  Heaven, 
Thy  great  flock,  which  else  had  perished  famine- 
stricken  by  the  way, 
Bljnded  by  the  glare  and  glamour  of  the  false,  false 
world  around  them, 
Whelmed  beneath  the  mighty  torrent  of  the  evils 
of  the  day. 

And    from    far   the    heartfelt   wishes   of   tliy   faithful 
friends   are  wafted, 
Freighted   with    love's    tender   greetings,    honored 
prelate,  unto  thee  ; 
Winged  words  the  precious  burden  of  their  spirits* 
homage  bearing. 
Earnest  prayers  that  all  thy  future  may  one  cloud- 
less summer  be. 

And  as  Joppa  greets  the  pilgrim,  greets  and  speeds 
him  on  his  journey 
To  Jerusalem's  holy  city,  lo  its  Tomb,  the  Shrine 
of  shrines. 
Pilgrim  hearts  to  thee,  its  Bishop,  turn  for  counsel 
and  for  guidance — 
Guidance  to  the  Heavenly  City,  where  God's  fade- 
less splendor  shines  ; 

There  to  rest  for  aye  enraptured  in  his  love  and  light 
and  radiance. 
There  to  hear  his  praises  flowing  ever  in  a  silvery 
tide, 
Where  his  angel-hosts  are  keeping  honors  for  thee, 
well  deserving, 
Where  love's  crown  of  crowns  awaits  thee.  Bishop, 
Counsellor,  and  Guide. 


FREEDOM. 


THANK  God  for  freedom  !  ye  who  dwell 
As  brothers  in  our  land  to-day, 
Who  mark  upon  the  breezes'  swell 
Our  Flag  its  shining  stars  display  ; 

Who  hear  along  the  balmy  air 

The  echoes  borne  from  sea  to  sea, 

The  deep  tones  of  a  nation's  prayer, 
The  '' Laus  Deo''  of  the  free. 


For  oh  !  few  greater  boons  than  this 
His  boundless  mercy  could  bestow 

Upon  the  sons  of  earth.  What  bliss 
So  sweet,  so  perfect  as  to  know 

That  here  nor  stripes,  nor  gyves,  nor  chains. 

Nor  penal  laws,  nor  exile  long 
In  rocky  isles  or  desert  plains. 

May  curb  the  feelings  pure  and  strong 

That  spring  within  a  Patriot's  soul. 

That  fire  his  heart,  and   nerve  his  hand, 

And  all  his  loftiest  thoughts  control 
For  God  and  home  and  Fatherland  ? 

12  263 


264  FREEDOM. 


Lo  !    Freedom  here  dominion  holds 
Unchecked  alike  o'er  life  and  mind, 

And  on  her  annals  are  enrolled 

The  names  most  honored  by  mankind. 

Not  hers  the  tyrant's  iron  hand, 
For  Justice  witii  impartial  sway 

Protects  the  throng  that  round  her  stand, 
While  Knowledge,  with  the  steadfast  ray 

That  burns  within  her  lamp  of  gold, 

Enkindled  at  immortal  light, 
Pierces  the  darkness,  and  behold  ! 

Our  country  smiling  at  the  sight. 

Freedom  !  for  thee  our  fathers  gave 
Their  lives  upon  the  battle-field, 

And  won  with  thee  on  shore  and  wave 
The  rights  their  rulers  would  not  yield. 

Through  toil  and  sorrow,  want  and  woe, 
Through  war's  red  sea  they  nobly  pressed, 

Till,  crowned  with  Victory's  deathless  glow. 
They  hailed  thee  "  Empress  of  the  West," 

And  taught  their  children  to  revere 
The  precious  gifts  thy  hands  bestow. 

To  hold  thy  cause  than  life  more  dear. 
To  guard  thee  closely  'gainst  5ach  foe. 

To  thee  the  warrior's  heart  of  fire, 
The  poet's  fervid  strains  of  song. 

The  statesman's  knowledge,  strength,  desire. 
And  loyalty  alike  belong. 


FREEDOM.  265 

And  all  are  faithful  to  their  trust  ; 

Tliey  pledge  their  filial  love  again, 
And  vow,  O  Freedom  pure  and  just ! 

To  keep  thy  honor  without  stain. 

And  humbly  do  they  pray  tliat  ne'er 
May  treason's  clouds  obscure  the  ray 

Of  joyous  peace  whose  beauties  rare 
Enrich  and  cheer  thy  perfect  day. 


AT  DA  Y LIGHTS  CLOSE. 


ANOTHER  day  is  passing  from  our  sight, 
Yet,  ere  its  latest  hour 
Falls  tremblingly  before  the  scythe  of  Time, 

To  fade  like  some  sweet  flower, 
AVhile  twilight's  violets  linger  in  the  west. 

And  stars  begin  to  shine, 
With  grateful  hearts  we  come  to  breathe  our  thanks, 
Lord,  for  all  gifts  of  thine — 

For  blessings  countless  as  the  wide  sea-sands  ; 

For  strength  against  our  foes 
When,  fanned  to  flame  by  fierce  contending  thoughts, 

Qur  evil  passions  rose  ; 
For  hours  of  peace  within  whose  holy  calm 

The  heart  with  rapture  thrilled, 
And  over  earthly  wounds  the  healing  balm 

Of  heavenly  dews  distilled. 

Who  can  tell  o'er  the  gifts  unnamed,  untold, 

One  passing  day  can  bring. 
The  joys  and  graces  still  an  hundredfold 

Given  to  us  by  our  King  ? 
For  these,  O  Father  of  eternal  love! 

Our  heartfelt  prayers  ascend 
In  meek  thanksgiving  for  Thy  tender  care 

And  mercies  without  end. 
266 


BESIDE   THE  SEA. 

A    SOUVENIR    OF    SANTA    CRUZ. 


LAVING  the  feet  of  gold  and  purple  mountains^ 
The  ocean,  veiled  in  haze, 
Chanted  its  strain  of  grand  and  solemn  worship 
That  glorious  day  of  days. 

Across  the  smooth  beach  where  the  waves  were  beat- 
ing 

The  gray  gull  winged  its  flight, 
And  the  Abronia's  countless  blossoms  painted 

The  sands  with  rosy  light. 

There    fled  the   white-maned   breakers   racing   land- 
ward— 

Great  Neptune's  coursers  fleet, 
Hasting  to  quaff  a  draught  of  mountain  nectar 

Where  bay  and  river  meet. 

Bathed  in  the  golden  sunlight  whose  rare  splendor 

Was  flooding  all  the  west, 
Throned  on  her  regal  hills,  the  sea-side  city. 

Seemed  like  a  dream  of  rest. 

No  waves  of  traffic  through  her  streets  were  flowing. 

No  voice  of  toil  arose, 
But  wayward  zephyrs,  through  her  gardens  blowing. 

Just  stirred  the  opening  rose. 

267 


268  BESIDE   THE   SEA. 

The  Sabbath's  calm  and  beauty  o'er  her  rested  ; 

The  tranquil  hour  of  prayer, 
Marked  by  the  peal  of  church-bells  far  resounding, 

Fell  like  a  blessing  there. 

O  gentle  scenes,  to  which  the  toiler,  wearied 

In  the  pursuit  of  wealth, 
Hies  for  a  while  from  breezy  hill  and  billow 

To  quaff  the  cup  of  health. 

How  many  charms  are  thine,  how  many  graces. 

Let  bards  more  favored  tell  ; 
I,  but  a  wanderer  through  life's  pleasant  places, 

Bow  to  thy  magic  spell : 

The  sense  of  peace  which,  like  a  great  libation. 

Thy  mountains  ever  pour 
From  rose-wreathed  vials  in  each  shady  canon 

And  by  thy  sounding  shore  ; 

The  crystal  waters  of  thy  river  flowing 

By  many  a  happy  home  ; 
The  favored  bowers  where,  amid  bloom  and  beauty, 

Joy,  Love,  and  Friendship  roam. 

But  not  alone  the  gifts  that  Nature  gave  thee — 

The  charms  of  sea  and  air. 
Or  fadeless  glories  of  thy  fragrant  gardelns — 

Combine  to  make  thee  fair. 

The  gentle  hearts  'tis  thine  to  hold  in  keeping. 

Dear  friends  so  true  and  tried. 
Whose  names  are  linked  with  thine  in  love  undying 

By  memory  glorified. 


AMID    THE  PINES. 


AROUND  me  rise  the  hills,  their  brows  uplifting 
Through  the  clear,  sunlit  air, 
Grand,  still,  and  solemn,  earth's  great  high-priests 
offering 
Their  beauty  as  a  prayer. 

No  noisy  hum  of  life's  unceasing  tumult 

Breaks  on  the  peaceful  calm 
Of  this  secluded  spot  where  pine  and  laurel 

Are  breathing  forth  their  balm. 

Far  up  the  mountain-side,  like  rugged  heroes 

Proud  of  their  battle-scars, 
Won  by  long  years  of  stern,  unyielding  battle 

'Mid  elemental  wars, 

The  old   Pines  stand,   their  children   round   them 
clustering, 

As  though  they  loved  to  hear 
Told  o'er  again  in  every  breeze  that  murmurs 

Their  fathers'  proud  career. 

Now  through  tlieir  boughs,  with  undulating  motion, 

The  zephyrs  glide  along  ; 
Then  Echo  startles  from  her  sleep  to  answer 

A  stormy  burst  of  song. 

269 


270  AMID    THE  FINES. 

Anon  it  dies  away  in  gentle  cadence — 

A  whisper,  and  no  more — 
As  though  the  love-vows  of  some  summer  idler 

Were  murmured  o'er  and  o'er. 

For  oh  !  how  oft  the  wooer's  words  of  rapture 

Have  thrilled  the  listening  leaves 
When  Hesper's  star,  in  peerless  beauty  shining, 

Illumed  those  glorious  eves. 

'Tis  a  fair  spot  of  deep,  unbroken  quiet, 

Here  on  the  mountain's  breast, 
Where  hearts  grown   weary   with   earth's   toil  and 
trouble 

May  pitch  their  tent  of  rest  ; 


Letting  life's  cares  drift  out  of  reach  and  vision, 

Like  bubbles  on  a  stream. 
And  pass  the  hours  wrapped   in    the   trance    pe 
vading 

A  fair  Elysian  dream  ; 


Lulled  by  the  sound  of  distant  water  falling, 

The  insects'  droning  hum. 
The  jay's  incessant  chatter,  and  the  beating 

Of  the  woodpecker's  drum  ; 

While  down  with  steady  fall  the  leaves  are  drifting 

Their  fading  beauties  lie 
A  rare  mosaic  of  Dame  Nature's  tinting. 

To  please  the  gazer's  eye. 


AMID    THE  PINES.  27I 

For  lo  !  the  angel  of  the  Autumn,  passing, 

Flung  down  a  flaming  brand, 
And  all  the  funeral  torches  of  the  Summer 

Were  kindled  o'er  the  land. 

There  shines  in  living  flame  the  poison  ivy, 

And  there  the  maples  burn. 
While  the  old  oaks,  their  conqueror  still  defying, 

Slowly  to  amber  turn. 

And  while  her  colors  dance  by  moor  and  meadow, 

And  float  from  every  tree, 
They  own  imperial  Autumn's  sway,  whose  sceptre 

Now  shines  from  sea  to  sea. 


13* 


RAISING  THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES  AT 
MONTEREY,  JULY  7,    1846. 


A  SEA  of  molten  silver  calmly  lying 
Under  the  fervid  glances  of  July; 
A  breath  of  balsam  borne  by  breezes  hying 
Across  the  olden  town  from  mountains  high  ; 

A  dreamy  rest  on  earth,  in  air,  on  ocean, 

A  voiceless  calm.     Yet  human  hearts  that  day 

Were  rent  and  torn  by  many  a  fierce  emotion 
Of  patriotic  zeal  in  Monterey. 

For  war's  dread  voice,  o'er  Mexic  valleys  ringing, 
Found  on  these  shores  remote  an  answering  sound, 

And  busy  rumors  to  our  fair  land  winging 

Whispered  of  foemen  thronging  closely  round. 

But  calmly  here  her  gallant  sons  awaited 

The  change  they  feared  each  passing  day  would 
bring, 

Dreading  the  foreign  rule,  so  fiercely  hated, 

'Neath  England's  Cross  or  France's  Eagle's  wing; 

Hearing  within  the  north  the  tread  of  strangers. 
The  conquerors  by  prophet  lips  foretold, 

Yet  bearing  still  stout  hearts  to  meet  the  dangers 
The  future  hours  might  in  their  keeping  hold. 
272 


RAISING  THE  STARS  AND  STRIFES.       273 

When  lo  !  around  Point  Pinos'  clear  outlining, 
Marking  her  path  with  glittering  diamond  spray, 

Her  white  sails  set  and  starry  banner  shining, 
The  swift  Savannah  sped  across  the  bay. 

And  watching  eyes,  from  town  or  fort  outgazing, 

In  that  bold  ship  a  happy  omen  saw, 
And  read  upon  her  flag's  bright  crimson  blazing 

The  promise  blest.  Security  and  Law, 

As  there  below  the  town  she  came  to  anchor, 
And  soon  across  the  glittering  sands  sent  forth. 

Fearless  of  foemen's  frown  or  words  of  rancor, 
A  gallant  corps  of  "strangers  of  the  North  "  ; 

With  martial  tread  the  rugged  streets  ascending, 
Their  brave  hearts  burning  this  fair  land  to  claim, 

Their  loyal  love  for  their  great  nation  lending 
A  halo  to  their  dream  of  deathless  fame. 

And  there  that  valiant  band  of  soldiers  planted 
The  Stars  and  Stripes  within  the  quiet  town, 

Where  once  in  pride  upon  the  breezes  flaunted 
The  silken  banner  of  the  Spanish  crown. 

Up  in  the  crystal  air  the  glad  winds  lifted 

The  grand  old  Flag,  and  waved  it  broad  and  free, 

While,  peal  on  peal,  the  cannon's  thunders  drifted 
Far  up  the  land  and  echoed  out  at  sea  ; 

Cheer  answering  cheer,  in  tones  of  heartfelt  greeting 
From  loyal  lips — tones  floating  far  away. 

Which,  clamorous  voice  of  rock  and  mount  repeating, 
Hailed  the  bright  Stars  and  Stripes  o'er  Monterey. 


2  74      RAISING  THE  STARS  AND  STRIPES. 

And  thus  for  aye  from  foreign  rule  was  wrested 
Our  glorious  land,  the  fair  Queen  of  the  West, 

Who  shines  each  year  with  added  grace  invested, 
The  fairest  jewel  on  Columbia's  breast. 


SAN  CARLOS  DEL  CARMELO. 
(august  28,  1884.) 


WHERE   the  waters  of  Carmelo,  between  fertile 
meadows  winding, 
Bear  adown  the  crystal  tribute  of  the  mountains  to 
the  bay, 
And  the  old  pines  on  the  hillside  rank  and  dress  their 
scattered  columns, 
Flinging  out  their  greenest  banners  in  meet  honor 
of  the  day. 

Stands  the  old  church  of  San  Carlos,  to  whose  doors, 
as  loving  pilgrims, 
From  the  State's  remotest  borders  eager  hundreds 
thronging  came 
On  that  glad  centennial  morning  when,  from  cloudless 
skies  above  it, 
Strewed  the  sun  o'er  earth  and  ocean  rich  largesse 
of  golden  flame. 

Smiled  the  heavens  in  summer  splendor,  laughed  the 
earth  in  heartfelt  gladness. 
And   white-crested   waves    came    leaping    lightly, 
lightly  up  the  shore. 
As  though  joining  in  the  revel  of  the  joyous  breezes 
waking 
On  the  forest  harps  faint  echoes  of  the  deep's  sub- 
limest  roar. 


276  SAN  CARLOS  DEL   CARMELO. 

And  a  living  stream  was  pouring  o'er  the  roadway  to 
the  Mission — 
People  of  all  ranks  and  nations,  by  one  common 
impulse  led 
Unto  fair  Carmelo  hastening,  in  its  shrine,  from  ruin 
rescued, 
There  to  render  love  and  reverence  to  our  land's 
illustrious  dead. 

Oh  !   how  sweetly,  how  sublimely  from  the  sounding 
arches  echoed 
Once  again  the  solemn  music  of  the  grand  Grego- 
rian chant. 
Breathing  requiem  for  the  hero   who  o'er  countless 
dangers  triumphed, 
Bearing  to   the   last  a  spirit  which  no  earthly  foe 
could  daunt. 

Through  the  open  doorway  gazing,  we  could  see  white 
vapors  rising 
Softly  o'er  the  southern  headland,  and  then  vanish- 
ing in  air, 
Like  the  floating  robes  of  angels  from  the  cloudless 
ether  bending, 
To  bear  back  to  Heaven  the  incense  of  love's  fra- 
grant wreath  of  prayer. 

Fancy  turned  to  dwell  enraptured  on  the  past  whose 
crowning  halo 
O'er  Carmelo's  lovely  valley  fadeless  rests  for  ever- 
more, 
With'its  cliain  of  memories  linking  years  of  sunshine 
and  of  shadow 
Since  Spain's  banner  first  was  lifted  by  Viscayno  on 
this  shore ; 


SAN  CARLOS  DEL  CARMELO,  2  "J  J 

When,    storm-tossed    and    ocean-driven,    from    these 
green  hills,  winter-gladdened, 
He  beheld  a  mighty  river  leaping  downward  to  the 
strand. 
And  the  calm,  blue  deep  around  him,  and  the  pleasant 
scenes  before  him, 
Seemed  a  vision  of  far  Carmel — seemed  the  proph- 
et's holy  land. 

Then   he   named   the  place  Carmelo,  and   he  paid   a 
glowing  tribute 
To  its  beauties   in  his  letters  to  his  monarch  far 
away, 
When  telling  of  the  harbor  where  his  storm-worn  gal- 
leons rested, 
And  the  wealth  of  field  and  forest  round  the  shores 
of  Monterey. 

Years  passed  on,  till  from  the  south-land  came  the 
band  whose  noble  leader 
Claims  our  heart's  sincerest  homage — came  the  pio- 
neer whose  hand 
Wrought  with  tireless  zeal,  uplifting  from  the  depths 
of  pagan  darkness 
The  wild  dwellers  of  the  forest,  the  poor  children 
of  the  land. 

Not    Spain's    gallant    caballeros,    nor    her   warriors 
famed  in  battle, 
Made  Carmelo's  valley  famous,  make  its  memories 
bright  and  fair, 
But  because  the  meek  Franciscan,  the  pure-hearted 
Padre  Serra, 
For   the    Indians  whom   he    cherished    lived    and 
taught  and  labored  there. 


278  SAX  CARLOS  DEL  CARMELO, 

There  he  rests  amid  his  brethren,  waiting  for  the  last 
day's  dawning, 
In  the  old  church  of  San  Carlos,  wliich  has  risen 
once  again 
From  its  crumbling  mass  of  ruins,  and  in  gracious 
beauty  smileth 
O'er  the  fallen  Mission  round  it— greeting  to  the 
hill  and  glen. 

There  he  rests;  and  we  who,  pilgrims  on   that  glad 
centennial  morning, 
Stood  beside  his  tomb  and  pondered  on  the  great 
deeds  he  had  done, 
From  his  glorious  example  of  a  hope  that  never  fal- 
tered, 
For  life's  daily  round  of  duties  have  a  loftier  cour- 
age won — 

Courage   for  life's  daily  duties,  and  a  wealth  of  plea- 
sant  memories 
Framing  hill  and  shrine  and  forest  in  a  glory  all 
their  own, 
Happy  thoughts  and  joyous  fancies,  in  our  hearts  to 
sing  for  ever, 
With  the  soft,  low  murmur  blending  of  the  ocean's 
monotone. 


CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME 

TO 

HIS  GRACE  MOST  REV.  R  W.  RIORDAN.  D.D. 


RECITED  BY  THE  PUPILS 


COLLEGE  OF   NOTRE   DAME,    SAN  JOSE,    CAL. 


CALIFORNIA'S    WELCOME. 


California  : 

HERE  let  us  rest ;  the  hours  wear  on  apace, 
And  we  would  fain  converse  of  bygone  days, 
When  o'er  tliese  wilds  the  Indians,  in  the  chase, 

Pursued  the  flying  deer  through  trackless  ways  ; 
Or  when  Cabrillo's  sail  a  meteor  shone 

Along  the  coast,  then  vanished  from  our  sight 
As  vapor  by  the  hurrying  breeze  is  blown 

From  northward,  and  the  surging  waves  are  white. 
But  on  our  land  he  set  Hispania's  seal ; 

He  raised  the  Cross  wliich  all  our  homage  claims, 
And  gave  our  broad  domain,  with  loyal  zeal, 

To  God,  his  monarch,  and  the  great  St.  James, 
Long  ere  the  pirate  Drake,  with  bloody  hand, 

Unfurled  the  English  flag  in  crimson  sheen, 
And  claimed  the  wondrous  beauties  of  our  land 

As  a  new  kingdom  for  his  haughty  queen ; 
Fresh  from  the  scenes  of  rapine  and  of  blood. 

Enriched  with  many  a  plundered  galleon's  freight 
Which  vainly  had  his  cruel  horde  withstood — 

Angel  of  the  Ocean  : 

But  Heaven  hid  from  him  the  Golden  Gate! 
Robber  and  murderer,  steeped  in  every  sin 

That  fills  the  heart  with  horror  and  with  dread ; 
Despoiler  of  God's  Altar,  who,  to  win 


282  CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME. 


Its  sacred  vessels,  blood  in  torrents  shed : 
The  mighty  ocean  which  Balboa  gave 

To  God  and  to  His  holy  Mother's  care, 
Recoiled,  with  horror  in  each  trembling  wave, 

When  it  beheld  the  impious  monster  dare 
Lift  to  his  lips,  amid  the  wassail  wild, 

The  cup  that  lield  the  consecrated  wine — 
The  holy  chalice  by  his  touch  defiled, 

'Mid  scoffings  at  the  Mysteries  Divine! 
And  then  no  more  Pacific,  rose  and  hurled 

Its  angry  surges  round  his  vessel's  way, 
While  veiling  mists,  by  unseen  hands  unfurled, 

Hid  from  his  gaze  tiie  entrance  to  the  bay. 

Angel  of  the  Shore: 

And  he  departed,  knowing  not  that  here 

An  empire  richer  than  the  Indies  slept, 
Where  in  sweet  solitude,  year  after  year. 

Their  simple  ways  the  land's  rude  children  kept ; 
No  foreign  voices  waked  the  echoes  round, 

Througli  winter's  hours  or  summer's  days  aflame 
With  golden  glory,  till  we  heard  the  sound 

Of  cheers  when  here  Spain's  ships  to  anchor  came. 

California  : 

We  still  remember  how  our  children  drew 

Together,  filled  with  wonder  and  affright, 
When  o'er  the  waves  Spain's  royal  banner  flew 

And  her  proud  vessels  shone  upon  their  sight. 
Sons  of  the  wilderness,  they  ne'er  had  seen 

Nor  stately  ships  nor  men  of  other  climes, 
But  deemed  that  some  winged  creature  hither  brought 

The  deities  of  their  forefathers'  times. 


CALIFORNIA'S   WELCOME.  283 

**  Are  these,"  they  cried,  "  the  gods  our  fathers  knew, 

Whose  hands  the  mighty  thunderbolts  control. 
Who  give  the  winter's  rain,  the  summer's  dew. 

And  bid  the  ocean  waters  landward  roll? 
Oh  !  have  they  sought  once  more  our  fallen  race. 

And  come  they  here  amid  our  glades  to  dwell, 
To  share  with  us  the  pleasures  of  the  chase 

Or  bid  the  air  with  warlike  anthems  swell  ?  " 
We  marked  each  savage  head  in  awe  incline 

When  they  beheld,  with  reverent,  startled  eyes, 
The  holy  Priest  before  the  Altar  shrine 

Offering  to  God  the  Mystic  Sacrifice, 
And  heard,  upborne  upon  the  morning  breeze, 

The  solemn  chant,  the  sweetly-breathed  hymn — 
Faint  echoes  of  celestial  melodies 

Poured  out  in  Heaven  by  the  Seraphim  : 
The  very  hills  seemed  thrilled  with  sudden  life, 

The  lofty  pines  caught  up  the  clear  refrain, 
And  ever  since  their  sylvan  haunts  are  rife 

With  the  low  murmurs  of  the  angelic  strain. 
But  soon  Viscayno's  sails  were  homeward  set; 

Spain's  conquering  banner  vanished  from  our  sight, 
Leaving  our  land  to  silence  and  regret. 

Mourning  the  darkness,  longing  for  the  light. 

Angel  of  the  Forest  : 

The  vision  faded  ;  many  a  weary  year 

My  sister  Spirit  of  the  Hills  and  I 
Kept  eager  watch  along  the  waters  near, 

And  answering  to  the  questioning  rills,  would  sigh : 
"'  They  come  not  yet,  the  holy  men  of  God — 

They  come  not  yet  whom  we  so  long  to  see ; 
Still  must  our  people  blindly  onward  plod 

Till  consecrated  hands  shall  set  them  free." 


284  CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME. 

But  time  moves  ever;  patience  crowneth  all  : 

And  when  the  earth  was  glorious  with  the  May, 
Far  in  the  soutli  we  heard  the  bugle's  call, 

The  tramp  of  martial  men,  the  charger's  neigh, 
And  from  their  weary  march  o'er  rugged  heights. 

And  barren  wastes  of  cactus  and  of  sand 
Wiiose  loneliness  the  pilgrim's  lieart  affrights, 

They  came  to  plant  the  Cross  within  our  land. 
Good  Padre  Crespi  led  them  on  their  way  ; 

And  when  June's  light  in  golden  splendor  died 
Came  Padre  Serra,  'neath  whose  gentle  sway 

Was  won  for  Heaven  our  country  fair  and  wide. 
How  the  hills  echoed  to  their  centres  then! 

What  gladsome  strains  of  joyous  greeting  soared. 
And  wild  reverberations  pealed  again 

When  from  the  ships  the  brazen  cannon  roared, 
As  San  Antonio  and  San  Carlos  gave 

To  Serra  and  Portala  welcome  due. 
From  the  drear  desert  to  the  flashing  wave 

Bidding  ''  All  Hail !  "  to  friends  so  tried  and  true ! 
And  then  beside  the  blue,  far-reaching  bay — 

The  summer's  light  on  earth  and  sea,  the  air 
Athrill  with  their  melodious  psalmody — 

They  gave  the  land  to  Santiago's  care. 

Angel  of  the  Streams: 

O  day  of  joy  !  when  from  the  founts  I  guard 

They  drew  the  sparkling  waters  for  the  feast 
And  Sacrifice  of  Love — O  sweet  reward  ! 

Desired  since  first  Heaven's  Day-Star  lit  the  east. 
No  more  compelled  to  tread  the  caiions  lone, 

Or  cross  'neath  scorching  heat  the  valleys  wide, 
Unblessed,  for  blessings  on  each  stream  were  thrown. 

The  name,  the  presence  of  the  Crucified 


CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME.  285 

Seem  lingering  in  each  crystal  drop  that  fell 

Since  that  bright  hour  when  'neath  the  sheltering 
Cross 
I  saw  its  waves  exorcised  from  each  spell 

And  every  stain  of  earth's  defiling  dross. 
And  its  regenerating  stream  was  poured 

Upon  the  forehead  of  the  neophyte  ; 
The  angels  sang  when  their  meek  hearts  adored, 

In  faith  and  trust,  the  Lord  of  Love  and  Light. 

Angel  of  the  Vales  : 

And  not  alone  to  thee,  O  sister  mine  ! 

From  holy  men  came  blessings  on  that  day  : 
Within  my  vales  they  builded  many  a  shrine, 

And  taught  the  savage  how  to  work  and  pray  ; 
Taught  them  to  love  the  God,  for  love  made  man  ; 

Taught    them    that    Heaven    love's    recompense 
would  be 
When  death  cuts  short  life's  frail  and  fleeting  span, 

And  sets  the  weary  soul  from  bondage  free  ; 
They  bade  them  lay  the  bow  and  spear  aside, 

And  from  the  fruits  of  orchard  and  of  field 
Win  the  reward  to  labor  ne'er  denied — 

A  generous  harvest's  overflowing  yield  ; 
Taught  them  to  till  the  earth  and  dress  the  vine, 

To  fell  the  mighty  monarchs  of  the  wood, 
And  build  their  homes  around  God's  holy  shrine, 

And  dwell  in  peace,  as  brothers  ever  should. 
Sons  of  Saint  Francis!  grateful  hearts  should  give 

To  you  a  meed  of  praise  in  deathless  song  ; 
Your  ceaseless  labors,  prayers,  and  fastings  live 

In  faithful  hearts,  a  memory  pure  and  strong — 


286  CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME. 


Serra,  Portala,  Crespi,  and  the  band 

Of  brave  Franciscans  who  from  day  to  day 

Met  toil  and  death  with  courage  high  and  grand, 
To  win  the   wandering  tribes  to   Faith's  bright 
way. 

Angel  of  the  Forest  : 

From  dusky  aisles  and  lonely  heights  I  gave 

Of  my  domain  the  fairest  and  the  best 
To  rear  the  lofty  temples  to  His  Name 

By  every  tribe  and  people  loved  and  blessed. 
I  saw  with  joy  the  children  of  the  soil 

Tread  through  the  bosky  depths  from  morn  till 
eve, 
And  heard  them  chanting  at  their  daily  toil 

Such  strains  as  made  my  heart  no  longer  grieve. 
The  Aves  soared  upon  the  fragrant  air 

That  echoed  once  to  war's  wild,  piercing  yell ; 
And  where  I  heard  the  meek  Franciscan's  prayer 

Had  rung  of  yore  the  orgies  born  of  hell. 

Angel  of  the  Hills  : 

No  more  in  lonely  caves,  on  mountain-sides, 

Like  the  wild  beasts  which  they  themselves  pur- 
sued, 
Dwelt  the  red  warriors  in  their  want  and  pride, 

No  loftier  aim  in  view  than  daily  food. 
Great   was    the    change    wrought    by    these    holy 
men  : 

I  from  my  lofty  heights  looked  down  and  smiled 
To  see  the  white-walled  Missions  rise  in  view, 

And  hear  the  praises  of  the  undefiled 


CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME.  287 

Ring  musically  from  the  silvery  bells 

Along  the  air  at  morning,  noon,  and  night ; 

Like  the  low  ripple  of  the  wavelets'  swells 
The  murmurous  echoes  sped  on  pinions  light. 

California  : 

Great    was    the    change   wrought    by   these    holy 
men, 

And  many  years  of  happiness  we  knew. 
While  faithful  pastors  labored  for  their  flocks, 

And  flocks  were  to  their  noble  pastors  true. 
But  bitter  sorrow  came  to  cloud  and  mar 

The  perfect  peace  of  Virtue's  tranquil  reign, 
And  fell  Ambition,  Avarice,  and  War 

Disturbed  our  realm  with  their  seditious  train. 
Then  was  the  toil  of  long  years  overthrown, 

The  laborers  driven  from  the  homes  they  loved, 
And  Freedom,  falsely  named,  a  monster  grown, 

The  efforts  of  God's  ministers  reproved. 
Bereft  as  orphans  of  the  Fathers'  care. 

The  Indians,  childlike  in  their  simple  trust. 
Clung  round  the   Missions  while  blest  hands  could 
share 

With  their  poor  neophytes  their  latest  crust. 
And  when  death  came — as  come  it  did  to  some, 

With  hungry  eyes,  and  visage  grim  and  gaunt, 
The  presence  and  the  power  of  famine,  dumb 

With  the  last  moanless  agony  of  want — 
The  latest  prayer  breathed  by  the  dying  priest 

Was  for  his  people,  begging  God  to  send, 
In  his  great  mercy  and  his  boundless  love, 

Unto  their  flocks  a  Father  and  a  Friend 

13 


288  CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME. 

That  prayer  was  answered.     Wlien   the  strangers 
came 

And  from  the  spoiler  wrested  home  and  land  : 
True  hearts  aglow  with  apostolic  llame, 

Bearing  God's  shining  seal  on  brow  and  hand  ; 
Bishops  and  priests  to  tend  the  scattered  flock 

And  win  them  from  the  desert  paths  of  wrong 
Back  to  the  Church  Christ  builded  on  the  rock, 

Back  to  the  law  of  love  so  sweet  and  strong — 
Came  with  Rome's  blessing  to  this  western  shore 

To  kindle  once  again  Faith's  fervid  glow, 
Religion's  balm  on  wounded  hearts  to  pour, 

And  bid  the  songs  of  praise  rejoicing  flow — 
Once  more  the  sons  of  Spain  our  altars  served, 

Their  voices  stirred  our  people,  and  their  toil 
Won    back   the    weak   hearts    that    had    failed    or 
swerved  ; 

And  like  the  bounteous  yield  of  virgin  soil 
Were  the  rich  harvests  which  God's  reapers  found 

White  for  the  sickle  in  the  tireless  hand. 
From    north    and    south,   and    east   and   west,   the 
sound 

Of  voices  calling  them  to  hasten  fanned 
The  fire  of  holy  zeal  within  each  breast. 

Hither  from  every  land  beneath  the  sun 
New  laborers  for  the  dear  Lord's  vineyard  hied, 

A  glorious  army.     Of  their  triumphs  won 
No  need  to  tell ;  behold  on  every  side 

The  monuments  that  of  their  victories  speak. 
No   need   to    praise ;    Heaven    keeps   the    records 
fair  : 

There  waits  the  guerdon  that  tlieir  spirits  seek, 
There  the  eternal  glory  they  will  share! 


CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME.  289 

Angel  of  the  Air  : 

But  lo  !  there  comes  into  our  midst  to-day 

Another  Shepherd,  a  true  chief  and  guide, 
Whose  dauntless  heart  no  labors  can  dismay, 

Who  sweeps  opposing  obstacles  aside. 
Pastor  of  Pastors  !     For  him  let  us  wreathe 

Again  the  shamrock  with  the  olive  bough, 
And    bid    our    land's     loved    children     haste    to 
breatlie 

To  him  most  cordial  words  of  welcome  now. 
For  oh  !  believe  me  that  no  worthier  choice 

Among  God's  faithful  soldiers  could  be  made. 
Have  ye  not  listened  to  his  people's  voice.-* 

Have  ye  not  heard  the  loving  tributes  paid 
Unto  their  gentle  Pastor,  kind  and  wise, 

Who  wrought  for  them  with  such  untiring  zeal, 
And  read  the  sorrow  in  their  tear- dimmed  eyes — 

The  grief  too  deep  for  language  to  reveal  ? 
He  comes  to  share  the  labors  of  this  See 

Dear  to  St.  Francis  ;  consecrated  too 
Upon  the  solemn  feast  when  faithful  hearts 

Weep  o'er  our  Lady's  sevenfold  griefs  anew. 
Upon  tlie  eve  of  that  most  glorious  day 

When    our    dear    Lord    impressed    his    wounds 
divine 
Upon  Assisi's  Saint,  oh  !  may  the  ray 

Of  their  united  splendors  round  him  shine. 
But   hark  !    the    children    come,    fresh    from    the 
quest 

Of  floral  treasures  in  the  garden's  bower. 
Their  youthful  spirits  fired  with  eager  zest. 

Dear    Convent    Angels,    rich    with    joy's    glad 
dower ! 


290  CALIFORNIA'S   WELCOME. 

The  whispering  leaves  that  o'er  their  playground 
bend, 

The  leafy  alleys  where  they  love  to  stray, 
The  sweet-toned  songsters  of  the  wild  that  blend 

Their  carols  with  each  laughing  voice  at  play, 
The  green  grass  springing  on  the  verdant  lawn, 

The  waters  falling  in  the  fountain  near, 
The  soft  breeze  stealing  like  a  timid  fawn 

From  sun  to  shade,  and  fondly  lingering  here, 
Have  given  me  tidings  from  this  home  of  love. 

Have  told  the  secrets  of  each  youthful  heart, 
Where  innocence  broods  like  a  snowy  dove  : 

God  grant  that  it  may  never  thence  depart ! 
"They  wait  his  coming,"  this  the  blossoms  tell ; 

"  They  long  to  greet  him,"  so  the  breezes  say. 
The  merry  birds  the  tell-tale  chorus  swell ; 

Tiie  dancing  leaves  ask,  "Will  he  come  to-day?" 

California  : 

He  comes  to-day — yea,  even  now  is  here  ! 

Angel  of  the  Air  : 

Haste,  children,  haste !  your  gleeful  voices  lend, 
And,  sweet  as  bird-notes  echoing  pure  and  clear, 
Hail  with  delight  your  Father  and  your  Friend. 

California  : 

Be  theirs  the  pleasant  task  to  welcome,  then, 
Saint  James'  pastor  to  the  land  that  first 

Learned  the  celestial  truths  from  holy  men 
Under  Saint  James'  shining  banner  nursed. 

[The  children  approach.] 


CALIFORNIA'S  WELCOME.  29 1 

Dear  children,  angels  spoke  of  you  but  now — 

You  come,  an  answer  to  their  loving  thought, 
With  smiles  of  happiness  on  lip  and  brow  ; 

And  we,  beholding,  see  that  you  have  wrought 
Into  the  clustered  blooms  you  gaily  bring 

The  loving  fancies  we  would  see  expressed, 
Symbolic  of  the  spotless  buds  that  spring 

In  the  bright  gardens  of  the  youthful  breast. 
And  knowing  that  you  long  to  welcome  him 

Whose  loving  care  for  children  has  been  told, 
On  earth  by  men,  by  angel  choirs  in  Heaven, 

We  bid  you  greet  him,  dear  lambs  of  the  fold. 

WELCOME. 

The  Children  : 

With    the   rapture   that   kindles    the   brow  of   the 

dawn 
When    the    rose-tinted    curtains    of    morning   are 

drawn, 
And  the  music  of  birds  and  the  ripple  of  rills 
Wake  the  echoes  that  lurk  in  the  nooks  of  the  hills; 
With  the  joy  that  we  feel  in  the  sun-lighted  air 
When  the  flowers  of  the  spring-time  are  fragrant 

and  fair ; 
With  the  pure  pleasure  born  of  all  beautiful  things, 
We    have    waited    and    watched    as    on    glittering 

wings 
Hour  after  hour  fioated  softly  away, 
Till  we  revel  at  last  in  the  light  of  this  day, 
When  we,  loved  Archbishop,  with  spirits  aglow, 
Bid  our  glad  strains  of  greeting  to  welcome  thee 

flow 


292 


CALIFORNIA "  S  IV EL  COME. 


From  the  great  city,  Queen   of  the  North  and  the 

West, 
From  tlie  scenes  that   thy  love  and  thy  labors  have 

blessed, 
From  the  hearts  that  still  follow  with  blessings  and 

prayers 
The  dear  Guide  that  lightened  their   burdens  and 

cares, 
Do  we  welcome  thee   here  to  our  sweet  home  that 

lies 
In  the  fairest  of  lands,  'iiealh  the  bluest  of  skies  ; 
To  the  hearts  of  tliy  children,  who  fondly  implore 
The  hand  of  our  Heavenly  Father  to  pour 
On  thee,  beloved  Prelate,  his  blessings  divine 
In  uncounted  measure.     May  angel-hosts  twine 
The  roses  of  peace  in  thy  pathway  to  strew, 
And  fair  be  the  vistas  life  opes  to  thy  view. 

And  we,  though  the  least  of  thy  little  ones,  dare 
In  thy  love,  dear  Archbishop,  to  ask  for  a  share, 
A  fond  Father's  blessing,  a  prayer  at  God's   shrine, 
A  thouglit  in  His  presence,  Supreme  and  Divine  : 
That  through  life  we  may  ever.be  valiant  and  strong, 
Never  yielding  to  falsehood  or  pandering  to  wrong, 
But  joyous  and  free,  as  we  stand  here  to-day. 
Our  hearts'  warmest  feelings  of  welcome  to  say, 
As  the  "  Caed  Mille  Failthe  "  awakens  a  thrill 
In  the  soul  of  the  exile  ;  oh  !  think  of  it  still 
As  a  symbol  that  even  but  faintly  conveys 
The  feeling  of  joy  that  each  rapt  bosom  sways, 
As  we  seek — oh  !  so  vainly — to  thee  to  impart 
The  thousand-fold  welcomes  that  spring  from  each 
heart. 


Sacred  Subjects. 


TO  THE  HOLY  FACE, 


THE    PRAYER    OF     REPARATION. 


FACE  Divine  !  with  awe  and  rapture 
In  thy  presence  do  I  bend; 
Image  of  my  Lord  and  Saviour, 
Let  my  humble  accents  blend 
With  the  thrilling  psalms  of  millions, 

With  the  Seraphs'  songs  sublime, 
In  the  prayer  of  reparation 

For  the  evils  wrought  by  crime, 

For  the  insults  heaped  upon  thee, 

For  the  outrage  and  the  scorn, 
For  the  thorns  that  pierced  thy  forehead, 

The  revilings  meekly  borne, 
Angry  words  and  blows  commingled. 

Impious  oaths  that  rent  the  air, 
All  the  anguish  of  the  Passion  : 

Listen,  listen  to  my  prayer ! 

Face  Divine  !  thy  royal  beauty 

Stained  with  blood  in  grief  I  see  ; 
Well  I  know  thy  countless  sufferings — 

All  were  borne  for  love  of  me. 
O  the  angry' tide  of  passion 

Sweeping  on  through  heart  and  brain  ! 
And  my  hourly  faults,  my  Saviour, 

Wound  thy  Holy  Face  again 

1^*  a9s 


296  TO   THE  HOLY  FACE. 

Face  Divine  !  thy  drooping  eyelids 

Seem  in  pity  thus  to    close, 
Lest  their  splendor,  Heaven-illumined, 

Would'  deal  death  among  thy  foes. 
And  the  lips  whose  tender  accents 

Speak  alone  of  God  and  love, 
With  no  word  of  stern  reproval 

Of  thy  ingrate  people  move. 

"  Pity  !  pity  !     Hear,  oh  !  hear  me  ! 

Pity  on   me!"    Thus  I  pray, 
Joining  in  the  fervent  pleading 

Of  eartli's  purest  hearts  to-day  : 
For  my  sins,  the    sins  tliat  wound  thee. 

For  each  scorned,  rejected  grace. 
For  each  insult,  vile  and  hideous, 

Offered  to  thee.  Holy  Face; 

For  the  sins  of  the  blasphemers, 

Torrent-like  that  ceaseless  flow, 
With  their  fearful  imprecations 

Filling  all  the  air  with   woe  ; 
For  the  sins  of  the  profaners. 

For  their  sacrilege  and  wrong  ; 
For  the  young — may  they  be  faithful  ; 

For  the  weak — oh  !  make  them  strong. 

Face  Divine !    may  thy  drooped  eyelids 

Lift  on  me  a  look  of  love. 
And  thy  closed  lips  breathe  of  pardon, 

Breathe  of  mercy,  when  they  move. 
Not  in  wrath,  O  Lord,  receive  me 

When   I  hear  Death's  mandate,  '*  Come  ! 
And  within  thy  awful  Presence 

I  shall  stand  abased  and  dumb. 


THE  MOST  PRECIOUS  BLOOD, 


MOST  Precious  Blood  of  the  Saviour, 
Ransom  whose  worth  is  untold, 
Blood  of  the  true  Paschal  Offering 
Marking  the  door  of  God's  fold  ! 

Ah  !  how  the  world-weary  pilgrim, 

Fainting,  and  ready  to  sink 
'Neath  the  burdens  of  trial  and  sorrow, 

Hastes  at  thy  fountain  to  drink. 

Hail !  health  of  the'  sick  and  the  suffering, 

Wisdom  of  scholar  and  sage, 
Light  of  youth's  roseate  morning, 

Hope  of  the  sad  hours  of  age  : 

Life-giving  wine  of  the  martyrs 

Who  fearlessly  went  to  their  doom, 

The  strength  from  thy  ruby  drops  flowing 
Robbing  each  torture  of  gloom  ! 

Most  Precious  Blood  of  the  Saviour, 
Wash  from  our  spirits  each  stain ; 

Grant  that  God's  blessing  may  never 
Fall  on  our  hard  hearts  in  vain. 

Strengthen  OHr  souls  for  the  combat. 
That,  after  earth's  toiling  and  strife, 

They  may  pass,  angel-borne,  through  the  portal 
That  leads  to  the  kingdom  of  life. 


"  ySSUS  MEEK  AND  HUMBLE: 


TO    REV.    M.    W, 


WEARIED  with  life's  sorrows 
And  by  pain  oppressed, 
Turned  I  to  thy  volume 
Saying  :  "  Here  is  rest." 

As  I  turned  its  pages, 

Lo !  a  sweet  surprise — 
There  the  pictured  Saviour 

Shone  before  my  eyes. 

"Jesus  meek  and  humble," 

So  the  legend  read. 
Golden  shone  the  halo 

Round  the  Christ-Child's  head  ; 

And  within  its  glory 

Star-like  crosses  three, 
Emblems  of  the  sufferings 

Borne  for  such  as  me. 

Where  his  left  hand,  clasped 

His  mantle  to  his  breast, 

Blue-eyed  Passion  Flowers 

To  his  Heart  were  pressed  ; 
298 


'JESUS  MEEK  AND  HUMBLE."  299 

While  his  right  hand,  lifted, 

Blessings  seemed  to  pour — 
Blessings  upon  blessings 

On  this  earthly  shore. 

As  I  gazed  my  troubles 

Vanished  from  my  sight  ; 
Pain  grew  less  in  anguish 

And  the  earth  more  bright. 

What  were  care  and  suffering, 

What  was  fever's  pain, 
If  through  all  one  blessing 

I  might  hope  to  gain  ? 

So  I  laid  life's  burdens 

At  my  Saviour's  feet, 
And  went  forth  in  courage 

Daily  cares  to  meet. 


THE  RESCUE  OF   THE  KING. 


OH  !  the  earth  has  still  her  heroes, 
Men   as  daring,  true,  and  strong 
As  e'er  wore  fame's  golden  laurels 

Won  by  deeds  that  live  in  song — 
Men  who  lead  a  nobler  army 

Than  the  warrior-hosts  that  tread 
To  the  shining  goal  of  victory 
Over  gory  heaps  of  dead. 

Who  are  they  ?     Lo  !  they  are  toiling 

Round  about  us  day  by  day, 
Or  are  lighting  distant  regions 

With  Faith's  Heaven-kindled  ray  ; 
Bearing  with  unmurmuring  patience 

Bitter  hardship,  toil,  and  loss, 
That  the  children  of  the  forest 

May  be  gathered  'neath  the  Cross — 

Valiant  priests  who  walk  rejoicing, 

Happy   if  they  may  but  bring 
One  poor  soul  that  dwelt  in  darkness 

To  the  bright  home  of  our   King. 
Such  were  they  whose  dauntless  spirits 

Met  and  faced  a  crushing  blow 
At  the   Mission  of  Keshina 

Just  one  little  year  ago, 
300 


THE  RESCUE   OF   THE  KING.  30I 


When  the  holy  Convent,  builded 

In  the  wilds   with  care  and  toil, 
At  the  silent  watch  of  midnight 

Fell,  the  hungry  fire-fiend's  spoil. 
Bravely  wrought  they,   bravely,  nobly, 

But  their  efforts  were  in  vain  : 
The  fierce  strength  of  the  destroyer 

They,  alas  !  might  not  restrain, 


As  it  burst  through  door  and  window 

With   a  red  and  angry  glare, 
Flinging  out  its   lurid   banners 

From  the  roof-tree  on  the  air; 
While  the  stout  walls  rocked  and  trembled 

As  the  swift  flames  mounted  higher. 
And  within   the  Chapel  quivered 

A  red  sea  of  living  fire. 

Yet  one  strove  to   pass  its  portals. 

Sought  to  tread  that  crimson  sea. 
Daring  death  and   all  its   horrors, 

O  my  Lord  and  God,  for  thee ! 
For  within  that   humble   temple 

Angels  watched  with  folded  wings 
Where  the  Tabernacle  sheltered 

Thee,  O  Lord,  the   King  of  kings ! 

Rose  a  wall  of  death  before  him  ; 

Forked  tongues  of  angry  flame, 
Like  a  thousand  furious  monsters 

Leaping  forth,  to  meet  him  came. 


302      THE  RESCUE   OF   THE  KING. 

Driven  back,  but  all  undaunted, 
Heedless  of  each  warning  call, 

Though  the  lifted  ladder  trembled 
'Gainst  the  Chapel's  smoking  wall, 

Yet  he  mounted  to  the  rescue 

With  the  ardor  warriors  bring 
When  the  cohorts  of  the   foemen 

Close  in  battle  round  their  king. 
Courage,  strengtii,  and  hero-daring — 

These  were   his  in  measure  grand, 
As  the  shattered  glass  and  mullion 

Fell  before  his  eager  hand. 

And  beneath   him  lay  the  Altar, 

Fire  above,  below,    around, 
Rushing  onward,  upward  at    him 

With   a  sullen,  roaring  sound. 
What  though  life  hung  in  the  balance  ? 

Still  he   wrought  with  resolute  will, 
And  the  Tabernacle  lifted 

O'er  the  scorching  window-sill. 


Joy  of  joys  !  the  King  was  rescued ! 

Oh  !  the  rapture  that  held  sway 
In  that  brave   priest's  loyal  bosom 

Words  are  feeble  to  portray. 
Death  a  thousand  times  were  welcome. 

Could  he  only  shield   from  harm 
The  most  Precious  Treasure,   rescued 

By   the   strength  of  his  right  arm. 


THE   RESCUE   OF   THE  KING.  303 

Saved  !  though,   round  about  him  sweeping, 
Through  the   broken  casement  poured 

The  mad   flames,   that  in  their  fury- 
Like  to  baffled  demons  roared. 

Oh  !  to   him  that   dreadful  moment 
Seemed  by  balmy  breezes  fanned, 

Though  the  furnace-blast  was   beating 
Fiercely  upon    brow  and  hand. 

Joy  and  gratitude   to   Heaven 

Filled  his  heart  with  pure  delight; 
Lost  was  all  the  toil  and  terror 

And  the  dangers  of  the  night. 
Not  for  earthly  honors  wrought   he, 

Yet  our  meed  of  praise  we  bring 
To  the  priest  so  brave  and  loyal 

In  the  service  of  his   King. 

February,  1885. 


A  T  BENEDICTION. 


OH  !  'twas  like  a  glimpse  of  Eden  when  I  passed  the 
chapel  portals, 
And  upon  its  well-loved  altar  saw  the  lighted  tapers 
shine, 
Where    the    brightly-wreathed    blossoms    seemed    to 
smile  as  if  in  welcome 
While  I   waited  for  the  blessing  of  our  Lord  and 
King  Divine — 

For  the  blessing  far  surpassing  all  that  human  thought 
can  picture. 
Then   the   organ's   deep-toned   music   thrilled  and 
filled  with   joy  the   place, 
And  the  voices  of  the  singers,  soaring  up  in  psalms  of 
worship. 
Caught  my  heart  and  bore  it  upward,  out  beyond 
the  bounds  of  space. 

Vanished  dreams  of  eartlily  pleasure,  fleeting  hopes  I 
fondly  cherished. 
As  I  listened,  all  enraptured,  to  the  grandly  thrill- 
ing strains. 
Till   the   pulsing  of  the  organ  seemed  the  sound  of 
waving  pinions, 
And  »the  hymns  the  songs  of  angels  as  of  yore  on 
Bethlehem's  plains. 
*  304 


AT  BENEDICTION. 


\OS 


Ah!  I  well  might  fancy  Heaven  had  been  opened  at 
that  moment, 
When  the  Lord  of  Hosts  uplifted  blessed  his  chil- 
dren kneeling  there, 
And  as  manna  in  the  desert  came  the  solemn  bene- 
diction, 
Filling  with  a  golden  glory  all  the  thorny  jDaths  of 
care. 

Sweet  hour  fraught  with  peace,  whose  memory  will  go 
with  me  on  life's  journey, 
Shining  'mid  my  fairest  treasures  as  a  gem  of  purest 
ray  ! 
May  that  blessing  of  my  Saviour,  shining  ever  in  my 
bosom, 
Keep  my  straying  steps  from  wandering  from  '*  the 
straight  and  narrow  way  "  ! 

College  Notre  Dame,  San  Jose,  Cal. 


OUR  LADY  OF  PERPETUAL  HELP, 


OH  !   'tis   a  sweet,  consoling  thought, 
Whate'er  life's  lot  may  be, 
Dear  Mother  of  Perpetual  Help  I 

That  we  may  call  on  thee, 
And  through  thy  fond  maternal  care, 

Thy  all-embracing  love, 
Know  that  each  fervent,  pleading  prayer 
Is  heard  by  thee  above. 

O  loveliest  Maid  !  Heaven's  crowned  Queen, 

How  may  we  best  essay 
To  strew  the  fragrant  flowers  of  love 

Before  God  day  by  day  ? 
How  win  the  favor  of  thy  Son, 

Supreme  in  awful  power. 
Save  by  true  service  unto  thee 

Through  every  passing  hour  ? 

Blest  Virgin,  in  whose  spotless  soul 

The  fount  of  pity  springs, 
How  sweetly  thou  dost  plead  our  cause 

With  the  great  King  of  kings, 
And,  spite  of  all  our  wandering  ways, 

Our  weakness  and  our  sin, 
From  the  unfailing  source  of  grace 

For  us  such  treasures  win  ! 
306 


OUR  LADY  OF  PERPETUAL  HELP.         307 

O  Lady  of  Perpetual  Help  ! 

We  hail  thee  once  again, 
True  solace  in  each  bitter  grief, 

Blest  comfort  in  our  pain. 
Too  oft  we  falter  in  the  path 

Or  idly  turn  away  ; 
Oh  !  in  the  dreadful  day  of  wrath 

Be  thou  our  shield  and  stay. 

Be  with  us  in  life's  daily  cares. 

When  clouds  obscure  the  light, 
And  onward  the  sad  pilgrim  fares 

Through  murky  clouds  of  night. 
Be  with   us  in  joy's  rosy  glow; 

Ah  !  most  we  need  Ihee  then 
To  bid  in  purer  channels  flow 

The  restless  thoughts  of  men. 

Be  with  us — oh  !  with  fond  desire 

The  priceless  boon  we  crave — 
Be  with  us  at  the  hour  of  death ; 

Then,  Mother,  come  and  save 
From  the  foul  demon's  cruel  power 

The  souls  thy  Son  redeemed — 
The  souls  he  gave  thee  as  thy  dower, 

For  which  his  life-blood  streamed 

To  wash  away  the  mark  of  sin, 

The  dark,  defiling  stain 
That  rested  on  the  spirits  bound 

By  Satan's  fettering  chain. 
Receive  each  beating  of  our  hearts, 

Each  slowly  laboring  breath ; 
Befriend  us,  Mother  of  our  Lord, 

In  the  dread  hour  of  death. 


THE  ROSARY. 


AUTUMNAL  fires  with  ceaseless  glow- 
Have  tinged  the  woods  with  brown, 
And  all  day  long,  with  sighing  fall, 

The  leaves  are  drifting  down  ; 
The  faded  foliage  on  the  breeze 

Is  borne  afar  and  near, 
And  mingles  with  the  common  dust 
The  glories  of  the  year. 

O  month  whose  wondrous  sunsets  light 

The  hills  witli  red  and   gold  ! 
Amid  thy  treasure-stores  'tis  thine 

A  jewel  fair  to  hold  ; 
For  as  the  month  of  flowers  is  givcQ 

To  Mary's  honored  name, 
So  does  the  chaplet  of  her  love 

Thy  earliest  Sunday  claim — 

The  precious  chaplet  of  her  love, 

Wliich  link  by  link  doth  bind 
To  Jesus'  Heart  and  Mary's  life 

The  children  of  mankind  ; 
Tlie  Rosary,  which,  bead  by  bead, 

In  one  unending  chain, 
Is  joyous  in  our  Lady's  joy 

Or  mournful  in  her  pain  ;  I 
308 


THE  ROSARY.  309 


Which  winneth  from  Heaven's  fount  of  grace 

All  solace  for  our  needs. 
What  aching  heart  hath  sought  nor  found 

Sweet  comfort  in  "  the  beads  "  ? 
Prayer  dear  to   prince  and   peer  alike, 

To  peasant  and   to  saint, 
AVhose  mysteries  with  such  perfect  art 

Joy,  grief,  and   glory  paint. 

No  thrilling  eloquence  of  rnan 

Such  knowledge  can   impart ; 
No  artist  with  his  matchless   skill 

So  deeply  move   the  heart ; 
No  volume  ever  yet  contained 

Such  wealth  of  precious  lore  ; 
No  prayerful  practice  ever  yet 

Such  heavenly  fruitage  bore. 

O  holy  feast  whose  blessings  crown 

Our  bright  October  days  ! 
Illuminate  our  pilgrim  paths 

With  Faith's   inspiring  rays  ; 
May  every  bead  we  humbly  tell 

Win   us  our  Mother's  love 
And  link  by  link  our  spirits   bind 

To  her  dear  home  above ! 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  FRANCE. 


OUR  Lady,  Queen  of  Heaven  and  Queen  of  France, 
That  land  which  owns  thy  sway, 
By  many  a  shrine  where  holy  fountains  glance 
And  pilgrims  kneel  to  pray  ; 

That  land  which  thou  hast  honored  with  thy  love, 

Which  thou  hast  made  thine  own, 
Where  often  to  the  meek  and  pure  of  heart 

Thy  beauty  thou  hast  shown — 

Thy  love,  dear  Mother,  grew  in  splendor  there 

Since  Faith's  first  shining  ray 
Kindled  the  darkness  of  the  pagan  night 

And  turned  it  into  day. 

Gaul's  children  owned  the  Saviour  of  the  world. 

They  followed  his  command. 
But,  childlike  in  their  faith,  they  loved  to  yield 

Their  homage  through  thy  hand. 

And  thou  hast  pleaded  for  them  not  in  vain, 

Mother  most  chaste  and  pure  ; 
Thy  voice  has  taught  them  in  their  days  of  grief 

In  patience  to  endure. 

Thou  hast  been  joyous  with  them  in  their  joy, 

Wept  with  them  in  their  woe, 
And  spread  thy  mantle's  triple  shield  of  power 

Betwixt  them  and  the  foe. 

3to 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  FRANCE.  3II 


When  clouds  of  war  lowered  darkly  o'er  the  land, 

And  civil  strife  oppressed, 
Lady  of  Pity,  thou  wert  with  them  then. 

The  dead  Christ  on  thy  breast. 

Lady  of  Pity,  many  a  lonely  shrine 

Grew  vocal  with  their  grief  ; 
Tliou  hadst  known  sorrow,  thou  couldst  feel  for  them, 

Thou  only  bring  relief. 

They  clung  to  thee  as  some  fond,  favored  child 

Clings  to  its  mother's  breast. 
Certain  within  thy  great,  all-pitying  love 

To  find  relief  and  rest. 

Within  the  fair  and  favored  clime  of  France 

How  many  names  are  thine, 
Breathed  o'er  with  tenderness  and  love  supreme 

Around  eacli  holy  shrine  ! 

In  shadowy  groves,  by  Gemme's  lofty  tower, 

Garaison,  fount  of  prayer, 
Famed  Cahuzac,  and  every  gift  that  gives 

To  thee  Aude's  valley  fair. 

But  there  is  one  fair  province  wholly  thine, 

Miraculously  so, 
Where  like  twin  roses  in  tliy  crown  of  love 

Lourdes  and  Beth  Arram  glow. 

The  noisy  Gave  on  its  tumultuous  way 

Pauses  before  the  shrine 
Of  sweet  Beth  Arram,  as  in  homage  meet 

Unto  the  Babe  Divine  : 


312  NOTRE  DAME  DE  FRANCE,    ■ 

As  though  the  shadow  of  the  lioly  Cross 

Upon  the  Calvary  tliere 
Had  power  to  change  its  loud  and  clamorous  voice 

To  one  of  praise  and  prayer — 

The  Cross  by  hands  of  angels  consecrate, 

And  to  whose  shadow  came 
Monarchs,  and  prelates,  and  the  holy  men 

Whom  France  still  loves  to  name. 

Here  came  the  peasants  of  the  Pyrenees, 

Here  the  Crusaders  prayed, 
Claiming  the  shelter  of  thy  "  beauteous  branch," 

Thy  comfort  and  tl)y  aid, 

Long  ere  the  Gave  heard  echoing  o'er  its  waves 

The  far-resounding  swell 
Of  pilgrims  chanting  round  the  holy  cliff 

And  cave  of  Massabielle — 

Of  pilgrims  chanting  there  thy  praises  sweet, 

Lady  of  Lourdes,  whose  love 
And  mercy  for  the  suffering  ones  of  earth 

The  sternest  spirits  move. 

Lady  of  Lourdes  I  the  name  that  fills  with  joy 

The  stricken  and  the  weak  ; 
Healer,  consoler,  comforter,  and  strength 

Of  all  who  humbly  seek. 

The  wide  world  sends  her  pilgrims  to  thy  shrine^; 

They  claim  thy  powerful  aid. 
Thy  Son's  dear  Cross  is  graven  on  their  hearts  , 

They  preach  a  new  Crusade  : 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  FRANCE.  313 

A  new  Crusade — an  old  but  ever  new — 

Against  the  demon  band, 
Impiety  and  sacrilege  and  wrong, 

That  ravage  every  land. 

Aid  them,  dear  Mother,  in  their  ceaseless  toil. 

The  shepherds  of  the  fold. 
Thou  purest  pure,  thou  Virgin  without  stain. 

Their  lives  in  keeping  hold. 

Our  Lady,  Queen  of  Heaven  and  Queen  of  France, 

Queen  of  the  Sacred  Heart ! 
In  the  great  treasures  of  whose  boundless  wealth 

We  humbly  claim  a  part  ; 

Thou  who  didst  fire  with  love  the  royal  hearts 

Of  Clovis  and  Charlemagne; 
Thou  whom  King  Louis,  by  a  solemn  vow, 

Made  Queen  of  his  domain. 

Her  queens  have  sought  thy  cloister's  holy  shade, 

Leaving  the  song  and  dance, 
And  there,  in  garb  of  sackcloth  rude  arrayed, 

Have  wept  and  prayed  for  France. 

Lady  of  Victory  !  whose  blessings  crowned 

The  banners  of  the  land 
When  Jeanne  de  Arc,  Domremy's  Virgin  Saint, 

Expelled  the  English  band. 

Mother  Immaculate,  Mother  most  pure, 

Blessed  Virgin  without  stain. 
The  sons  of  Gaul  are  crying  unto  thee, 

Nor  do  they  cry  in  vain. 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  FRANCE. 


A  long,  illustrious  line  of  holy  men 

Bear  witness  to  thy  power — 
Men  who  have  laid  earth's  fleeting  joys  aside 

And  taken  Christ  for  their  dower ; 

The  countless  saints  wliose  lives  of  virtue  crown 

Thy  chosen  land  with  light ; 
Martyrs  who  laid  their  lives  down  for  the  cross, 

Bishop  and  anchorite  ; 

Martyrs  whose  blood  e'en  in  these  later  days 

Poured  out  a  crimson  rain, 
31ood  which  has  quickened  into  vigorous  life 

The  tree  of  Faith  again. 

Hail,  Queen  of  Saints  !     Who  loved  to  honor  thee, 

What  lips  but  hath  addressed 
To^thee  the  prayer  thy  own  Saint  Bernard  framed, 

The  "  Memorare  "  blest  ? 

O^Queen  of  Saints !  from  thy  briglit  home  on  high 

Look  down  with  pitying  glance  ; 
Plead  for  us  with  thy  Son  and  hear  our  prayers, 

O  Notre  Dame  de  France  ! 


THE  ASSUMPTION  OF  OUR  LADY. 


LO  !  the  mighty  heavens  are  opened,  and  a  tide  of 
living  splendor 
Poureth    forth   in   golden  glory   from    the   shining 
courts  above, 
Whence  the  white-winged  angels  hasten  forth,  elate 
with  rapturous  gladness, 
To  hail  their  Queen,  our  Mother,  with  a  pure  and 
reverent  love. 

Ay,  they  come  to  bear  her  from  us,  she  who  for  our 
sake  lias  suffered 
In  her  heart  the  woes  and  sorrows  that  her  Son,  the 
Saviour,  bore  ; 
She  has  shared    his  thirst  and  hunger  for  the  souls 
that  scorned  and  spurned  him, 
Felt  the  cruel  nails  and  scourges  that  his  sacred 
body  tore. 

Now  she  goes  to  share  his  triumph  in  the  kingdom  of 
his  Fatlier, 
Loving  yet  her  mortal  children  with  a  love  both 
fond  and  deep. 
Yea,  in  Heaven  we  still  may  claim  her :  were  we  not 
bequeathed  to  her. 
In  Christ's  hour  of   awful    anguish,  as  a  precious 
trust  to  keep? 

315 


3l6        THE  ASSUMPTION  OF  OUR  LADY. 


O  ye  angel-hosts  attendant  on  our  Lady's  blest  As- 
sumption ! 
Ye  whose   happy  lot  was  near  her  in  that  hour  of 
joy  supreme, 
Ye  whose  lips  were  never  sullied  by  the  taint  of  earth's 
corruption, 
Ye  alone   may  chant  the   numbers   worthy  such  a 
glorious  theme. 

But  the  words  of  pious  authors  and  the  visions  of  the 
artist 
Have  portrayed  its  royal  pageant,  till,  with  Faith's 
inspired  eyes, 
We    behold    the    Queen    of   Angels,  by    her    subject 
throng  attended, 
Upward    borne    'mid    sounding    anthems    to    her 
crowning  in  the  skies. 

O^the  sense  of  rapture   thrilling  through   her  bosom 
at  that  moment, 
Love  and  rapture  thrilling,  filling  every  fibre  of  her 
breast. 
As,  clothed  in  awful  splendor,  the  Trinity  appeareth 
Where  seraphic  hosts  are  clianting  in  the  mansions 
of  the  blest. 

Well  may  the  angels  turn  to  her  with  looks  of  rapt 
devotion, 
Seeing  in   her  face  reflected  the  bright  scene  that 
she  beholds 
Wlien  the  glory,  far  surpassing  all  that  human  thought 
can  fathom, 
As  she  nears   the   throne  of   Deity,  upon   her  gaze 
unfolds. 


THE  ASSUMPTION  OF  OUR  LADY.        317 

Ah  !  we  feel  they  glance  with  pity  on  the  earth  thus 
sadly  orphaned, 
And  we  bid  them  bear  our  pleading  to  our  gracious 
Mother's  throne, 
Ask  for  us  the  gifts  and  graces  she  can  give  in  gene- 
rous measure, 
And  the  strength  and  courage  needed  for  our  errors 
to  atone. 

"jQueen   of  Angels,"  lowly  bending  in  thy  presence, 
do  we  offer 
Heart  and   hand  and  life  to  serve  thee,  happy  if  we 
may  but  claim 
From   thy  Son's  o'erflowing  mercy  this  great  boon, 
that  we  be  worthy 
To  be  ranked  with  those  who  humbly  seek  to  glo- 
rify his  name. 

In  the  joy  of  thy  Assumption,  oh  !  we  would  not  be 
forgotten  : 
Share   with   us   its  light  and    beauty,  purify    each 
faithful  soul ; 
Make  ]^s  worthy  of  the  ransom  Jesus  paid  for  us  on 
Calvary; 
Lead  us  on  life's  rugged  pathway,  safe  beneath  thy 
chaste  control. 

By  thy  glorious  coronation  on  this  day  of  days,  dear 
Mother, 
Do  we  hail  thee  Queen  of  Heaven,  Queen  of  An- 
gels and  of  Saints, 
Queen  of  that  celestial  kingdom  where  the  praise  of 
God  for  ever 
Echoes  amid   scenes  transcending  all   that  fairest 
fancy  paints. 


3l8        THE  ASSUMPTION  OF  OUR  LADY, 


There,  we  pray,  our  exile  over   in   this  world  of  toil 
and  sorrow, 
When   the    immortal   soul    upspringing   leaves    its 
prison-house  of  pain, 
Where  seraphic  choirs  are  chanting  on  this  feast  of 
joy  exceeding, 
We  may  hear  with  hearts  rejoicing  the  great  beauty 
of  their  strain. 


NOTRE  DAME  DE  BON  SECOURSr 


AN    INCIDENT    OF    THE     FEVER-PLAGUE    IN    CANADA. 


TURNING  from  the  pictured  pages 
Lying  open  in  my  hand, 
Fancy  leads  me  forth   a  pilgrim 

To  my  distant  native  land — 
Leads  me  to  lier  shrine  who  yieldeth 

Ready  succor  when  we  call, 
She  who  with  a  Mother's  fondness 

Guards  the  homes  of  Montreal ; 
To  her  shrine,   Hope's  only  beacon 

In  that  hour  of  bitterest  woe 
When  the  Plague-King  slew  liis  thousands    \ 

Of  our  people  long  ago. 

O  those  days  of  gloom  and  horror  ! 

Lips  will  tremble,  tears  will  fall, 
As  the  mothers  to  their  children 

All  its  bitterness   recall — 
How,  as  leaves  in  autumn  falling 

When  the  stormy  winds  rush  by. 
Stricken  by  Death's  mortal  anguish, 

Sank  the  sufferers  to  die  ; 

When  that  bold,  unfaltering  legion 
Of  Christ's  chosen  servants  trod 

Daily  'mid  the  sick  and  dying, 

Leading  countless  souls  to  God.    '    ; 


>4* 


320        "  NOTRE  DAME  DE  BON  SECOURS." 

Lovingly  above  the  sufferers 

Did  tliese  mercy-angels  bend, 
Watching,  caring,  soothing,  tending 

To  the  dark  and  bitter  end. 
But  they  passed  not  through  unscathed 

Fell  the  Pastor  at  his  post, 
And  the  patient  Sister-nurses 

Joined  the  shining  martyr-host. 

Then   the  holy  Bishop  Bourget 

Sought  Our  Lady  of  Prompt  Aid, 
Saying  :  "  For  my  suffering  people 

Let  thy  power  be  displayed. 
Oh  !  to  stay  the  fever's  fury, 

And  to  save  my  orphan  band, 
And  to  send  my  flock  new  pastors, 

Holy  Mother,  stretch  thy  hand. 
Lo  !  with  humble,  contrite  spirit 

Do  I  seek   thy  holy  shrine. 
Save  us,   Mother,  or  we  perish  ! 

Made  us  wholly,  truly  thine. 
Mark  my  vow  :  to  toil  unwearying 

Here  thy  homage  to  restore, 
And  to  bring  my  people  pilgrims 

To  thee  as  in  days  of  yore." 

And  they  came ;  the  air  re-echoed 

To  the  hymns  the  people  sang. 
Ne'er  before  such  heart-appealing 

Through  thy  streets,  fair  city,  rang. 
Who  can  plead  like  those  who  suffer.? 

Who  so  well  portray  their  woe 
As  the  hearts  that  bleed  and  quiver, 

Freshly  wounded  by  grief's  blow  ? 


NOTRE  DAME  BE  BON  SECOURS. 


321 


And  Our  Lady  heard  and  answered  : 

Swiftly  as  the  north  wind's  breath 
Stays  with  frost  the  dread  malaria, 

Stayed  bis  cruel  work  King  Death. 
From  its  haunts  the  fever  vanished, 

Health  came  back  with  smiling  face, 
And  the  people  sang  thanksgiving 

To  Our  Lady  full  of  grace. 


TELLING  THE  BEADS. 


OVER  the  hands  that  are  shining 
With  the  brightest  of  jewels  aglow — 
Hands  where  toil's  stain  never  rested 

To  sully  their  tinting  of  snow — 
Bead  after  bead  dropping  downward 

Bear  pearls  for  the  casket  of  Heaven, 
Prayers  breathed  for  joys  in  the  future, 
Thanks  murmured  for  favors  God-given  : 
'*  Ave  Maria  !  " 

Over  the  hands  that  are  hardened 

And  rough  with  the  toiling  of  years — 
Hands  that  have  done  a  stout  battle 

With  hunger  and  heartache  and  fears — 
Bead  after  bead  dropping  downward 

Waft  prayers  full  of  hope  and  of  trust 
From  hearts  that,  through  bitter  temptation, 

Strove  to  tread  in  the  paths  of  the  just : 
"  Ave  Maria  !  " 

Ovei:  the  hands  of  the  statesman, 
Grown  weary  with  guiding  the  pen 

In  the  framing  of  laws  and  commandments 
For  the  guidance  and  bettering  of  men. 


TELLING    THE  BEADS. 


323 


Bead  after  bead  dropping  downward 
Fall  freighted  with  pleadings  for  light, 

That  the  whole  world  may  revel  in  beauty 
Which  is  born  of  the  rulings  of  right : 
"Ave  Maria!" 

Over  the  hands  of  the  beggar, 

As  he  crouches  alone  by  the  way, 
Drawing  his  rags  closer  round  him, 

Teaching  his  sad  heart  to  pray, 
Bead  after  bead  dropping  downward, 

His  weary  voice  broken  with  sighs, 
He  claims  the  sweet  aid  of  his  Mother, 

The  merciful  Queen  of  the  skies  : 

"  Ave  Maria  !  " 

Over  the  hands  of  the  hermit 

Shut  away  from  earth's  turmoil  and  jar, 
When  the  light  of  tlie  day  has  departed 

And  brightly  shines  eve's  silvery  star. 
Bead  after  bead  dropping  downward 

Tell  each  a  sweet  prayer  for  the  world. 
In  the  hour  of  its  sorest  temptation 

'Neath  the  banner  of  darkness  unfurled; 
"  Ave  Maria  !  " 

With  love  in  her  heart  for  the  Saviour, 

With  peace  in  each  line  of  her  face, 
The  nun  in  her  humble  attire 

Bends  low  to  "  Our  Lady  of  Grace  "  ; 
And  the  beads  from  her  white  fingers  dropping 

Seem  to  me  brightest  jewels  of  worth, 
As  the  pure  bride  of  Heaven  kneels  pleading 

For  the  fallen  and  outcast  of  earth  : 
"Ave  Maria!" 


324  TELLING    THE  BEADS. 

O  Mother  of  God,  who  hast  given 

Thy  children  this  chaplet  so  fair, 
Take  thou  each  and  all  of  the  pleaders 

Close  under  thy  sheltering  care  ; 
May  each  bead  that  is  told  in  thy  honor 

Shine  fair  in  the  records  of  love, 
And  win  for  thy  servants  sweet  guerdon — 

A  home  in  the  mansions  above : 

"Ave  Maria!" 


OUR  LADYS  DOLORS. 

THE    children's    TRIBUTE    AT    HER    SHRINE 


The  Prophecy  of  Si?neon. 

MOTHER  of  Sorrows,   at  thy  feet 
Sweet  blossoms  from  the  wilds  we  lay, 
In  memory  of  the  cruel   swords 

Througli  tliy  pure  heart  that  forced  their  way. 

The  fairest  buds  that  crown  the  spring 

We  offer  for  that  hour  of  care, 
That  hour  of  anguish  sharp  and  keen, 

When,  borne  upon  the  throbbing  air, 

Prophetic  Simeon's  words  of  awe 

Filled  thy  meek  breast  with  dread  alarms. 

Forebodings  of  the  future  ills 
Waiting  the  Infant  in  thy  arms  ; 

That  hour  whose  sorrows  comprehend 

The  sorrows  of  thy  spotless  life, 
Whelming  thy  spirit  as  when  waves 

Sweep  shoreward  in  the  tempest's  strife. 

Oh  !    let  the  perfume  of  our  flowers 

Plead  with  thee  for  the  hearts  that  stray 

Far  from  the  shadow  of  the  Cross, 

Lost  in  the  world's  tumultuous  way. 
325 


326  OUR  LADY'S  DOLORS. 


The  Flight  into  Egypt. 

We  offer  now  tliese  callas  fair, 
Children  of  Egypt's  siinny  land, 

Where  thou,  beloved  Queen,  didst  dwell 
An  exile  from  thy  native  strand  ; 

In  memory  of  thy  anguish  keen 

Through  the  long  hours  of  dreary  flight 

When  the  world's  Monarch  stooped  to  flee 
An  earthly  ruler's  cruel  might. 

With  thee  we  trace  the  rocky  path  ; 

With  thee  we  tread  the  desert's  sand; 
With  thee  we  bear  the  heat  and  thirst, 

And  face  the  armed  robber  band. 

With  thee  we  fondly  watch  and  ward, 
Through  all  thy  fears  and  deep  alarms, 

The  smiling  Babe  that  calmly  rests 
In  peace  within  thy  sheltering  arms. 


The  Three  Days'  Loss. 

Lily  of  Israel,  by  the  pain 

Endured  through  all  the  three  days'  loss, 
Foreshadowing  thy  greater  grief 

Beneath  the  cruel  Cross, 

Bearing  sweet  wreathed  blooms  to  thee 
We  crave  to  tread  the  pathway  trod 

Through  Sion's  city  in  thy  search 
For  thy  dear  Son  and  God. 


'   OUR  LADY'S  DOLORS.  327 

Oil !    teach  us  with  unwavering  faith 

To  seek  him  ever  day  by  day; 
Oh  !   fire  our  hearts  with  love's  pure  flame, 

Whose  glow  will  never  more  decay. 

And  guide  us  till  with  tliee  we  find 

The  Saviour  in  his  Temple  fair,  ^ 

Where  through  thy  sorrows  we  may  hope 
With  thee  his  heavenly  joys  to  share. 

Meeting  Jesus  with  the  Ci-oss. 

Blending  our  tears  of  grief  with  thine, 

Beloved  Mother,  let  us  stand 
Beside  thee  in  this  hour  of  woe, 

A  youthful  but  devoted  band, 

While  onward  in  an  angry  tide 

The  maddened  crowd  is  borne  along, 

And  fair  Jerusalem  echoes  back 
The  cries  of  the  infuriate  throng. 

And  in  its  midst — O  woe  untold  ! 

O  sight  to  pierce  thy  tender  soul ! — 
He  walks  beneath  the  heavy  Cross 

Whose  word  the  heavens  and  earth  control. 

Striped  by  the  keen  and  cruel  scourge. 
Scorned  by  his  foes,  who  jeer  and  cry, 

Heaping  their  insults  base  on  him, 
They  hurry  forth  to  crucify. 

Our  spirits  long  to  bear  with  thee 

The  bitter  sorrow  of  that  hour 
Which  saw  thy  Son,  the  Lord  most  high, 

A  victim  to  his  people's  power; 


328  OUR  LADY'S  DOLORS. 

And  strew  beneath  his  bleeding  feet 
These  blossoms  of  the  glen  and  grove, 

And  our  young  hearts,  which  burn  and  glow 
With  flames  of  pure  and  fervid  love. 

The  Crticifixion. 

The  hour  foretold  by  Prophets, 
The  hour  of  dread,  is  here. 

O  children  !    gather  closer. 
Draw  nearer  and  more  near. 

Draw  nearer  to  Our  Lady 

In  this  surpassing  pain  ; 
Weep,  weep  with  her,  dear  children  : 

Such  tears  fall  not  in  vain. 

See  on  the  cross  the  Saviour, 
By  impious  hands  laid  low  ; 

The  nails  through  flesh  and  muscle 
Driven  downward  blow  by  blow. 

And  as  they  tear  and  wound  him. 

Our  Lady's  virgin  heart 
Is,  by  the  pain  he  suffers. 

Stricken  and  rent  apart. 

Lo!    now  the  Cross  is  lifted; 

Behold  the  Precious  Blood 
Rains  down  on  Calvary's  summit, 

A  great  and  priceless  flood. 

Hark  to  the  words  he  speaketh : 
He  claims  us  for  his  own  ; 

Oh !    let  us  strive  to  merit 
A  place  beside  his  throne. 


OUR  LADY'S  DOLORS. 


329 


He  gives  us  to  his  Mother, 

A  legacy  of  love  ! 
O  pitying  Mother  !    guide  us 

Unto  tliy  home  above. 

And  as  our  humble  offerings 

Before  thy  slirine  we  lay, 
Of  flowers  and  tears,  we  beg  thee 

To  plead  for  us  alway. 

The   Taking  Down  from  the  Cross. 

Our  dear  and  holy  Mother 
Once  more  sliall  fondly  hold 

Upon  her  breast  the  Saviour, 
As  in  the  days  of  old — 

The  Blessed  Babe  of  Bethlehem, 
But  rigid,  cold,  and  dead, 

With  pure  flesh  striped  and  wounded 
And  thorn-transpierced  head. 

Come,  let  us  aid  Saint  Joseph, 
As  now,  with  reverent  care, 

He  holds  our  dear  Lord's  Body — 
Blest  load  for  man  to  bear  ! — 

Or  bring  the  fragrant   spices. 
Or  spread  the  snowy   shroud, 

Treading  with  noiseless  footsteps 
And  young  heads  lowly  bowed ; 

In  silent  awe  and  reverence 
Our  humble  homage  yield, 

Asking  His  care  who  fashioned 
These  blossoms  of  the  field. 


350  OUR  LADY'S  DOLORS. 


The  Burial  of  Jesus. 

Within  the  tomb  they  lay  him  ; 

Earth's  opened  heart  doth  take 
To  its  embrace  the  Saviour, 

Who  suffered  for  our  sake. 

Around  his  grave,  dear  children, 
Our  solemn  guard  we'll  keep, 

With  countless  angels  watching 
Above  his  wondrous  sleep ; 

Our  hearts  subdued  with  sorrow^ 

Our  bitter  tear-drops  shed 
In  wild,  heartrending  anguish 

Above  our  Mother's  Dead  ! 

O  mystery  far  surpassing 

The  reach  of  human  thought  I 

O  death  by  whicli  the  freedom 
Of  man   from   sin  was  bought ! 

Blest   Queen   of  Heaven,  hear  us : 
-  Accept  our  humble  prayer, 
And  let  thy  little  children 
Thy  last  great   Dolor  sliare. 

Oh  !    take  our  hearts'  best  offerings. 
Their  homage  true  and  deep, 

And  in  thy  care  for  ever 
Our  wayward  spirits   keep. 

Accept  the  fragile  blossoms 

We  lay   before  thee   here, 
And  win   for  us,   thy  children, 

A  home  in   Heaven's  bright  sphere. 


OUR  LADY  OF  MOUNT  CARMEL. 


BY  tliis  blest  badge  we  wear,  O  holy  Mother  ! 
This  token  of  thy  love, 
Look  down  on  us  with  eyes  of  tenderest  pity 
From  thy  brigiit  home  above — 

Thou  who  didst  tread  the  Via  Dolorosa 

Through  sorrow's  bitterest  gloom, 
Thou  who  didst  stand  beside  the  Cross  in  anguish, 

Didst  mourn  beside  the  tomb ; 

Thou  whose  pure  lieart  wast  torn  with  grief  whose 
tortures 

No  mortal  tongue  may  tell, 
When  died  thy  Son,  our  merciful  Redeemer, 

For  those  he  loved  so  well. 

Then,  when  our  sins  thy  loving  heart  were  breaking, 

He  gave  us  unto  thee. 
That  thou  our  Mother  and  our  Mediatrix 

For  evermore  should  be. 

And  thou  hast  proved  a  loving  Mother  to  us, 

Blessed  Queen  of  love  and  ligiit, 
Who  hast  bestowed  upon  us  this  most  glorious 

Badge  of  the  Carmelite — 

Gift  of  thy  love  unto  that  chosen  servant 

Whose  heart,  with  love  aflame, 
Sought  daily  with  undying  zeal  to  honor 

Thy  pure  and  holy  name.£ 

*33i 


332  OUR  LADY  OF  MOUNT  CAR  MEL. 

A  boon  be  craved,  a  gift  from  tbee,  dear  Mother 

A  token  from  thy  hand, 
Whose  power  would  fan   the   flame  of  praise  and 
worship 

To  splendor  clear  and  grand. 

And   thou  didst   hear   his  prayer — this  badge  thy 
answer. 

What  rapturous  surprise 
Flooded  his  soul  when  from  the  opened  heavens, 

To  glad  his  loving  eyes, 

Thou  camest  to  earth,  the  Infant  Saviour  bearing 

Upon  thy  spotless  breast, 
And  to  thy  sainted  servant  gave  this  armor 

And  shield  for  souls  oppressed. 

Mount  Carmel's  caves,  within  whose  shadows  lonely 
God's  priests  and  prophets  prayed, 

Thrilled  to  the  music  which  uncounted  angels 
Singing  around  thee  made. 

And  thence  for  evermore  sweet  strains  of  comfort, 

Thy  words  of  promise,  flow — 
Words  which  have  fallen  with  a  balm  of  healing 

On  many  a  wound  of  woe. 

O   dear,  dear  Mother  !  through   each  passing  mo- 
ment 
Look  from  thy  home  above, 
And    shield    from   tempting    wiles    the    thousands 
wearing 
This  livery  of  thy  love. 


OUR  LADY  OF  MOUNT  CARMEL.  333 

Pray  for  thy  children  found  in  every  station, 

Peasant  or  prince  or  peer, 
Merchant  or  soldier,  or  the  rugged  sailor 

Whose  stout  heart  knows  no  fear. 

But  oh  !  all  blessings  choicest  still  and  rarest 

Flow  round  their  liearts  to-day 
Who  for  Christ's  sake  leave  home  and  friends  and 
kindred, 

To  tread  the  "  narrow  way  "  ; 

Whose  every  aim  in  life  is  consecrated 

To  God,  and  God  alone  ; 
Whose  prayers,  a  grand,  perpetual  adoration, 

Like  incense  seek  his  throne. 

Win  them,  sweet  Mother,  faith's  celestial  guerdon, 

To  each  give  strengthening  grace, 
And  let  the  influence  of  tlieir  lives  heroic 

Be  felt  in  every  place. 


MY  LADY'S  JEWELS. 


(The  month  of  October  being  dedicated  to  the  Rosary  of  Our  Lady  and  to 
the  Holy  Angels,  and  the  month  of  November  to  the  Holy  Souls,  may  our  good 
angels  bear  many  a  chaplet  of  Aves  up  to  the  Thi-one  of  Grace  as  suffrages 
for  our  loved  ones  who  have  passed  before  us  through  the  mystic  gateway  of 
the  tomb  !) 


THEY  are  my  Lady's  Jewels, 
And  that  is  why  I  prize 
As  a  treasure  what  seems  so  common 
And  worthless  to  otlier  eyes. 

They  are  my  Lady's  Jewels, 
And  all  through  life's  sad  years 

They  have  been  to  my  heart  a  comfort 
That  soothed  its  darkest  fears. 

Holding  them  close  in  sorrow, 

In  sickness  and  bitter  woe, 
I  have  felt  the  cross  grow  lighter 

And  my  heart  with  courage  glow. 

They  are  my  Lady's  Jewels, 
And  no  monarch's  caskets  hold 

Gems  of  such  wondrous  splendor 
As  these  in  my  hands  unfold. 

True,  they  are  brown  and  homely, 
And  fashioned  of  common  wood; 

But  I  see  in  them  shining  diamonds, 
And  rubies  as  red  as  blood, 

334 


MY  LADTS  JEWELS.  335 

With  milk-white  pearls  that  emblem 

The  purity  of  soul 
We  all  must  keep  while  striving 

To  win  the  heavenly  goal. 

And  lo  !  as  upon  them  gazing, 

Clasping  them  bead  by  bead, 
See  how  they  open  unto  me 

A  volume  of  light  to  read. 

Chapter  and  page  and  column 

Are  shining  before  me  here  : 
The  life  of  our  blessed  Mother, 

And  the  Saviour  we  love  and  fear; 

Mary's  joys  and  her  sorrows, 

Mary's  glory  and  pain, 
And  the  graces  we  win  through  Mary, 

Falling  like  precious  rain — 

Graces  that  bless  and  brighten, 

Graces  won  by  her  prayers. 
As  down  at  the  throne  of  Jesus 

She  layeth  her  children's  cares. 

Dear  are  my  Lady's  Jewels, 

Most  precious  and  dear  to  me, 
For  the  sake  of  the  poor  souls  waiting 

Our  Aves  to  set  them  free — 

The  poor  souls  watching  and  waiting. 

In  purgatorial  pains,' 
Till  the  prayers  of  their  earthly  kindred 

Move  Our  Lady  to  break  their  chains. 


336  MY  LADY'S  JEWELS. 

O  lovers  of  Mary's  Jewels ! 

Think  as  you  bend  to-day, 
That  some  one  you  loved  most  dearly, 

Some  one  who  has  passed  away, 

May  now  unto  you  be  calling, 

Asking  an  alms  of  you, 
Prayers  that  our  holy  Mother 

May  pour  on  their  souls,  the  dew 

That  quenches  the  flames  and  loosens 
Each  closely  prisoning  band, 

And  free  and  lead  them  rejoicing 
To  their  home  in  the  heavenly  land. 

They  are  my  Lady's  Jewels, 
And  earthly  cares  and  needs 

Vanish  away  as  vapor 

At  the  touch  of  my  Rosary  beads. 

What  were  the  wealth  of  Ophir, 
What  were  the  Indies'  store. 

If  this  chaplet  of  Mary's  roses 
I  could  claim  as  mine  no  more  ? 

Ah  !  I  would  guard  them  closely. 
With  their  graces  to  heal  and  save. 

And  still  would  my  hands  enfold  them 
When  I  rest  in  the  silent  grave. 

October,  i88i. 


OUR  LADY  OF  KNOCK. 


THROUGH  years  of  persecution,  of  bitter  woe  and 
wrong, 
The  glorious  Faith  of  Erin  has  shone  with  radiance 

strong  ; 
It  lit  the  lowly  hovels,  the  mountain  glens  so  lone, 
And  caverns  where  the   ocean's  voice  rang   out   in 

thunder-tone. 
For,  banished  from  their  churches  and  abbeys'  holy 

shade, 
'Mid  Nature's  rugged  fastness  the  priests  their  dwel- 
ling made. 
Then,  holy  hills  of  Mayo,  your  rocky  heights  became 
Temples  unto  God's  honor  dear  and  Mary's  spotless 

fame, 
When    all  your   glens  were  peopled  by  that   heroic 

band 
Driven  exiles  into  Connaught  by   Cromwell's  fierce 

command  ; 
The  angels  bent  in  pity  above  them  day  by  day, 
And   thoughts   of    Mary's   sorrows   were    still    their 

strength  and  stay. 
Then  by  the  sobbing  ocean  or  on  the  sterile  sod 
How  many  a  nameless  martyr  gave  up  his  soul  to 

God! 
And  as  the  years  rolled  onward  their  children  stilly 

have  borne 
The  tyrant's  vengeful  anger,  the  tyrant's  cruel  scorn 


338  OUR  LADY  OF  KNOCK. 

Upon  their  quivering  vitals  has  the  vulture  Famine 

fed, 
Till  Heaven  alone  could  number  the  dying  and  the 

dead. 

But  still  their  Faith   they  cherished,  nor  threat  nor 
promised  power 

Could  win  from  Erin's  children  Saint  Patrick's  trea- 
sured dower. 

And  now,  amid  their  sorrows,  Our  Lady  from  above 

Comes  down  to  bless  and  cheer  them  with  tender, 
pitying  love  ; 

And,  holy  hills  of   Mayo!    ye   thrill  with   glad   ac- 
claim 

As  hour  by  hour  recordeth  new  marvels  to  her  name, 

Where   to  Knock's   lowly  chapel   the   eager  pilgrims 
haste. 

Of  Christ's  dear  mercy,  given  through  Mary's  hands, 
to  taste. 

For  there   our  heavenly  Mother,  Saint  Joseph,  and 
Saint  John 

Upon  the  startled  vision  of  Erin's  children  shone ; 

There  on  a  glittering  altar  rapt  eyes  beheld  again 

The  Lamb,  type  of  the  Saviour  on  Calvary's  moun- 
tain slain — 

The  Saviour  on  whose  shoulders   the  whole  world's 
sins  were  laid, 

Whose    Blood,    a   priceless    ransom,    our    reparation 
made  ; 

The  Saviour  whose  loved  Mother  comes  in  these  days 
of  fear. 

Of  hunger,  and  of  heartache,  our  mourning  land  to 
cheer. 


OUR  LADY  OF  KNOCK.  \ 


339 


With  her  two  chosen  guardians  'mid  earthly  joy  and 
loss  : 

One  watched  beside  Christ's  cradle,  one  stood  be- 
neath his  Cross; 

One  guarded  his  fair  childhood,  its  labor  and  its  rest, 

One  at  our  Lord's  Last  Supper  reposed  upon  his 
breast. 

And  while  the  thronging  pilgrims — the  sick,  the  worn, 

the  weak — 
Hear  in  each    healing   marvel   our    Mother's   mercy 

speak, 
We,  dwellers  o'er  the  ocean,  lift  up  our  hearts  to-day, 
Begging  of  thee,  sweet  Virgin,  for  Erin's  sons  to  pray; 
Win  for  them  strength  and  courage  their  heavy  cross 

to  bear. 
And  bid  the  smile  of  plenty  dispel  want's  cloud  of 

care  ; 
Grant  freedom  to  thy  children,  but,  dearer  blessing 

still. 
Teach  them,  with  faith  unswerving,  to  do  God's  holy 

will. 


LINES 

Suggested  by  the  dedication  to  the  Blessed  Virgin  Mary  of  the  children  and 
the  congregation  of  St.  Mary's  Church,  Gilroy,  at  the  Redemptorist 
Mission,  April  25,  1886. 


BEFORE  the  altar  kneeling, 
With  fervent  hearts   appealing, 
We  beg  of  thee,  dear  Mother, 

To  take  us  to  thy  care. 
While  unseen   angels,   winging 
From  heaven  to  earth,  are  singing 
Thy  praise,  and  flowers  are  flinging 
Sweet  fragrance   on  the   air.  • 

We  ask  of  thee   to  bless  us. 
We  crave   thy  love's  caresses  : 
Oh  !   clasp   us   in   thy  pity 

Close  to  thy  gentle  breast; 
There,   safe   from   sin  and   sorrow, 
May  toil-worn  spirits  borrow 
A  foretaste  of  the  morrow 

Of  glad,  eternal  rest. 

O  Virgin  pure  and  tender  ! 
The  homage  that  we  render 
Is  such  as  faithful  children 

Unto  a  parent  yield, 
When  each  with  each  is  vying 
To  prove  their  truth  undying, 
On  her  fond  love  relying 

As  life's  most  perfect  shield. 


LINES.  341 


Mother  of  God  !  God's  Mother  !— 
This  title,  and  no  other, 
Shines  as  the  fairest  jewel 

Which  crowns  thy  spotless  brow  ; 
By  it  our  spirits  claim  thee, 
By  it  our  lips  proclaim  thee 
'Gainst  all  who  would  defame  thee, 

Our  own  dear  Mother  now, 

As  here  we  come  to  proffer 
The  best  gifts  we  can  offer — 
Our  cherished  household  darlings. 

Our  fairest  and  our  best ; 
The  children  whom  we  treasure 
With  love  that  knows  no  measure 
To  thee  we  give  with  pleasure  : 

Oh  !  take  them  to  thy  breast. 

Keep  them  from  sin's  defiling, 
From  Satan's  snares  beguiling. 
Guard  them,  O  Queen  and  Mother  ! 

That  they  may  ever  sliine 
Pure  as  the  snowy  flowers. 
Nurslings  of  sun  and  showers, 
Which,  fresh  from  Nature's  bowers, 

Are  laid  before  thy  shrine. 

Take  them  in  life's  bright  morning, 
When  Innocence,  adorning 
Jiach  soul  with  gems  of  purity. 

Walks  with  them  hand-in-hand. 
Oh !  may  these  children  never 
Their  union  with  thee  sever; 
May  they  prove  true,  for  ever 

Thy  own  devoted  band  ! 


342  LINES. 


True  to  their  pledge  now  given 
To  thee,  O  Queen  of  Heaven  ! 
The  promise  their  young  voices 

Breathe  forth  for  one  and  all. 
Guard  them,  guard  us,  till  Heaven 
Opes  on  life's  closing  even. 
And  we  will  stand  forgiven 

Where  shadows  never  fall. 


OCTOBER  ROSES. 


NOW  is  the  time  when  garden  haunts 
Are  gay  with  bright  October  roses, 
And  morning's  dawn  or  sunset's  glow 

In  turn  their  varying  tints  discloses ; 
With  their  white  blooms  we  deck  thy  shrine, 

O  Virgin  ever  pure  and  glorious! 
And  with  their  red  and  gold  adorn 

His  throne  who  rose  o'er  death  victorious. 
Thanking  his  generous  love  that  crowns 

The  waning  year  with  radiant  splendor, 
As  humbly  at  his  feet  we  lay 

The  blossoms  with  our  homage  tender. 

But  wealth  more  precious  than  these  blooms 

October  guards  as  lord  and  warden, 
For  through  his  golden  hours  we  cull 

The  roses  in  our  Lady's  garden. 
How  beautiful,  how  bright,  how  sweet. 

With  fragrance  from  Heaven's  realm  of  beauty, 
These  flowers  that  lift  our  souls  above 

The  wearing  cares  of  earthly  duty! 
They  speak  to  us  of  Jesus'  life. 

Of  Mary's  sorrow,  joy,  and  glory. 
And  soft  as  dew  their  petals  fall 

Upon  the  fires  of  Purgatory. 

O  precious  flowers  !     O  holy  beads  ! 

Of  our  dear  Mother's  love  the  token  ; 
How  often  unto  listening  hearts 

Your  messages  of  joy  are  spoken  I 

«5*  343 


344  OCTOBER  ROSES. 


More  fragrant  than  the  rose's  breath 

Your  Aves  rise  to  Heaven  appealing, 
And  visions  of  your  mysteries  stir 

The  hidden  founts  of  holiest  feeling  ; 
While  all  the  universal  Church 

The  praises  of  our  Queen  is  singing, 
And  joyous  echoes  far  and  wide 

With  strains  of  filial  love  are  ringing. 

We,  too,  ere  yet  thy  chosen  month 

Within  Time's  silent  vault  reposes, 
Lay  at  thy  feet,  beloved  Queen, 

Wreaths  of  thy  own  October  roses; 
And  beg  thee  that  eacli  lovely  bloom 

Before  thee  now  in  beauty  lying, 
Each  Ave  sweet,  may  win  from  thee 

Release  for  souls  in  prison  sighing. 
They  plead  with  us  ;  for  them  we  plead. 

Queen  of  the  Rosary  !  win  them  pardon, 
And  dower  their  spirits  with  the  light 

And  graces  of  thy  own  rose-garden. 

And  for  the  living,  too,  we  pray. 

But  most  for  Christ's  dear  standard-bearers- 
His  noble  priests  who  toil  to  make 

All  hearts  in  heavenly  joys  true  sharers. 
And  as  Saint  Dominic  taught  of  yore 

The  Rosary's  untold  power  and  beauty, 
May  its  blest  fruits  ne'er  cease  to  cheer 

His  children's  arduous  path  of  duty ; 
Its  shining  Aves  light   their  way 

Till  Death   Heaven's  golden  gate  uncloses, 
And  at  thy  feet  they  haste  to  lay 

Pure  wreaths  of  thy  October  roses. 


''HAIL,  FULL  OF  GRACE!'' 


'' TJAIL,  full   of  grace!"     'Twas   thus  the  angel 
11     spoke 

When  from  high  Heaven  he  came  to  thee  to  bring 
The  message  and  the  mandate  of  his  King. 
Thou  who  ne'er  bent  'neath  sin's  defiling  yoke, 
Who  ne'er  God's  laws  by  word  or  action  broke, 
To  thee  we  turn,  O  Maiden  pure  and  mild! 
Thou  fair,  thou  spotless  one,  thou  undefiled, 
Thine  aid  the  children  of  the  earth  invoke  ; 
Oh  !  by  thy  sevenfold  joys,  thy  sevenfold  pains, 
Win  us  the  strength  that  fainting  hope  sustains  ! 
Turn  upon  us  those  mercy-beaming  eyes  ; 
Hark  to  our  prayers,  and  plead  for  us  once  more, 
That  when  life's  dreary  pilgrimage  is  o'er 
We  may  salute  thee.  Mother,  in  the  skies  ! 


CAUSE  OF  OUR  JOY. 


HOLY  Mother,  to  thy  care 
Do  I  yield  this  life  of  mine  ; 
Listen  to  my  pleading  prayer, 
Suing  by  thy  joys  divine. 

Highest  of  Heaven's  subject  throng, 
Than  the  angel  choirs  more  high, 

Throned  within  the  awful  light 
Of  our  God's  all-seeing  eye. 

Brightest  where  all  earthly  thought 

Of  celestial  beauty  dies, 
Fairest  where  the  lustrous  light 

Dazzles  e'en  angelic  eyes. 

Honored  with  an  honor  meet 
By  the  blessed  and  the  pure, 

With  an  homage  that  shall  last 
While  the  heavenly  courts  endure. 

All  are  clients  at  thy  feet ; 

Thou  canst  win  where  others  fail  : 
Stretch  thy  helping  hand  to  me 

When  the  tempter's  wiles  assail. 

At  the  right  hand  of  thy  Son 

Thou  art  placed  that  thou  mayst  win 
For  thy  children  one  and  all 

Freedom  from  the  thrall  of  sin. 
346 


CAUSE   OF  OUR  JOY.  347 

By  the  favors  God  bestows 

Upon  all  who  honor  thee, 
By  thy  sevenfold  joys  in  Heaven, 

Holy  Mother,  succor  me ! 


A  VE  MARIA. 


AS  the  angel  hailed  thee  first 
With  the  Spirit's  words  of  power, 
Do  thy  praises  still  ascend 

From  the  cloister,  from  the  bower; 
From  the  busy  scenes  of  toil, 

From  the  homes  of  ease  and   rest, 
From  the  soul  of  childhood  pure. 

From  the  prisoner's  guilty  breast. 
From  the  hearts  by  sorrow  bowed. 

By  the  voice  that  melts  in  tears, 
Faltered  slow,  or  sung  aloud, 

Ring  thy  praises  through  the  years. 
O'er  the  wide  domain  of  earth 

There  is  not  a  single  place 
Where  thy  children  are  not  found 

Bidding  thee  "  Hail,  full  of  grace." 

Blessed  art  thou  amongst  all 

Daughters   of  the  human  race, 
Thou  whose  royal  lineage  high 

Priests  and  prophets  loved  to  trace. 
Star  of  hope  to  fallen  man 

Wert  thou  since  earth's  earliest  dawn, 
Since  at  Eden's  closing  gates 

First  the  flaming  sword  was  drawn. 
Light  of  Israel's  darkest  day. 

Princess  of  King  David's  line. 
Never  daughter  of  thy  race 

Bore  such  noble  Son  as  thine. 
348 


AVE  MARIA. 


349 


He  was  Lord  of  that  domain 

Which  nor  air  nor  oceans  bound  ; 
In  his  praise  through  earth  and  Heaven 

Strains  of  sweetest  worship  sound — 
Lord  of  that  dominion  fair 

Which  his  presence  doth  illume, 
At  the  Father's  right  hand  throned 

Shines  the  blest  fruit  of  thy  womb. 

Holy  Mary,  Mother  pure, - 

Holy  Mary,   Maiden  sweet, 
Hear  thy  pleading  children  call, 

See  them  kneeling  at  thy  feet; 
Listen  to  their  anxious  cry. 

Hold  them  closely  in  thy  care  ; 
Guide  them  to  thy  home  on  high, 

Shield  them  from  the  tempter's  snare ; 
Bless  them  in  their  days  of  toil. 

Soothe   tiiem  in  their  hours  of  woe. 
Lend  them  comfort  and  support 

On  their  journey  here  below  ; 
Lift  their  hearts  above  the  earth, 

Aid  them,  Mother,  in  that  hour 
When  they  tremble  in  the  clasp 

Of  the  dread  death-angel's  power. 


THROUGH  MARYS  HEART. 


I  KNOW  a  way  by  which  to  reach 
The  Sacred  Heart  on  high, 
A  path  round  which  ring  echoes  sweet 
To  each  appealing  cry  ; 

A  pathway  odorous  with  flowers 

Most  fragrant  and  most  fair, 
Such  blossoms  as  ne'er  brightened  yet 

Spring's  glittering  parterre. 

The  caves  of  ocean  never  hid 
Such  pearls  as  strew  the  way ; 

Ear  never  heard  before  such  songs 
As  thrill  there  all  the  day. 

It  leadeth  through  the  garden  where 
The  Bridegroom  loves  to  tread, 

The  chosen  spot  on  which  his  smile's 
Most  radiant  light  is  shed  ; 

It  leadeth  through  her  holy  Heart, 

The  Virgin  meek  and  mild, 
The  stainless  Heart  that  shade  or  spot 

Of  sin  has  ne'er  defiled. 

It  follows  where  the  cruel  sword 

Of  sorrow  oped  the  way, 
Whence  light  and  grace  and  boundless  love 

Flow  on  us  day  by  day. 

350 


THROUGH  MARY'S  HEART.  35 1 

O  Mary,  Mother,  chaste  and  pure  ! 

Look  from  thy  home  above. 
And  lead  me  safely  unto  God 

Through  this  bright  path  of  love. 

By  every  precious  gift  he  gave 

To  make  thy  Heart  so  fair, 
By  all  his  love  for  thee,  beloved, 

I  claim  thy  sheltering  care. 

Through  thee,  my  hope,  I  seek  to  gain 

Grace  from  his  Heart  divine; 
For  evermore  I  hear  his  words, 

"  Come  through  her  Heart  to  mine." 

"  Come  through  my  Mother's  Heart  to  me  ; 

Whate'er  she  asks  I  give." 
Then,  holy  Mother,  hear  my  prayer, 

And  teach  me  how  to  live — 

To  live  and  work  for  God  alone, 
To  win  his  strengthening  grace, 

Till,  dying  on  thy  loving  Heart, 
I  may  behold  his  Face. 


TO  SAINT  JOSEPH. 

[Suggested  by  the  opening  of  St.  Joseph's  Free  Schools  in  San  Francisco 
by  the  Rev.  Hugh  P.  Gallagher.] 


SAINT  JOSEPH,  stainless,  meek,  and  mild, 
Meet  foster-father  of  the  Child 
Who,  leaving  Heaven's  celestial  bowers, 
Dwelt  in  this  sinful  world  of  ours, 
And  by  his  meek  example  showed 
To  youthful  hearts  the  shining  road 
Which  leadeth  to  the  promised  prize, 
The  golden  gates  of  Paradise. 

How  blest,  dear  saint,  thy  lot  to  share 
From  day  to  day  the  Infant's  care  ; 
And,  after  toil,  what  precious  rest 
When  by  the  Saviour's  love  caressed- — 
Sweet  foretaste  of  the  world  of  bliss 
Given  to  thy  holy  heart  in  this  ! 

Dear  saint,  by  all  the  joys  then  given 
When  thy  home  held  the  Lord  of  Heaven 
Look  from  his  cloudless  home  above, 
And  by  thy  pity  and  thy  love 
Pray  that  this  school  beneath  thy  care 
Good  fruit  a  thousandfold  may  bear  ; 
That  choicest  blessings  flowing  down 
Its  noble  founder's  life  may  crown. 
352 


I 


TO   SAINT  JOSEPH.  353 

For  bravely  has  he  wrought  to  win 

Youth  from  the  luring  path  of  sin, 

From  dangers  ever  lurking  near — 

The  unbeliever's  scoff  and  sneer, 

The  constant  taunts,  the  scorning  eyes, 

The  words  that  wound  in  friendly  guise, 

The  thousand   bright,   deceptive  arts 

That  weaken   faith  in   youthful  hearts 

And  early  teach  their  steps  to  stray 

Far,  far  £rom  where   Religion's  sway, 

Undimmed  'mid  persecution's  wrath. 

Beacons  for  us  the  upward  path. 

Patron  of  all,  to  thee  lie  brings 

These  tender  souls  as  offerings. 

That  thou  mayest  lead  witli   guiding  hand 

The  little  children  of  our  land. 

For  lo  !   upon   their  future  waits 

The  country's  peace,  the  law  of  States  ; 

And  as  to  good  or  ill  they  grow, 

Follows  a  nation's  weal  or  woe. 

But  thou  canst  mould  each  heart  aright 

Until,  as  lilies  in  God's   sight, 

Fragrant  and  fair  their  good  deeds  show, 

Brightening  earth's  darkness  witli  their  glow, 

Till  he   who  for  them  toiled  and  planned 

Shall  be  called  "blessed"  in  the  land. 


SAINT  PATRICKS  DAY, 


OMORN  of  grace  and  beauty  ! 
We  fondly  bid  thee  hail, 
With  the  welcome  true  and  hearty 
Of  a  love  which  ne'er  can  fail. 

For  shrined  within  our  spirits, 
Close  twined  around  each  heart, 

Lives  the  love  for  Erin's  Patron 
Which  can  never  thence  depart. 

Dear  Apostle  of  our  country. 
Who  through  weary  years  of  toil 

Spent  his  boyhood  a  meek  captive 
To  a  proud  lord  of  the  soil ! 

How  Heaven's  love  and  pity  blending 
Grew  within  him  day  by  day  ! 

How  he  grieved  to  see  the  people 
Amid  pagan  darkness  stray  ! 

Ah  !  he  wept  the  thousands  dying 
With  no  future  hope  to  cheer, 

Ever  praying  God  to  send  them 
Faith  unclouded,  pure,  and  clear. 

He  was  heard.     The  lowly  captive, 
From  his  servile  bonds  set  free, 

Sought  once  more  his  native  country 
O'er  the  blue  waves  of  the  sea. 

354 


SAINT  PATRICK'S  DAY.  355 

But  the  memory  of  green   Erin 

On  his  heart  its  burden  laid, 
And  in  dreams  he  heard  the  wailing 

As  her  babes  for  baptism  prayed, 

Till  he  knelt  in  humble  pleading 
At  the  Sovereign  Pontiff's  throne. 

Begging  that  to  Ireland's  children 
He  might  make  the  Gospel  known. 

With  the  blessing  of  Christ's  Vicar 

To  the  Irish  isle  he  came, 
And  no  conqueror  earth  has  honored 

Won  such  pure  and  lasting  fame. 

Kings  and  princes,  peers  and  peasants, 

Answered  his  impassioned  call, 
And  with  meek  and  contrite  spirits 

Owned  the  Saviour,  Lord  of  all. 

And  he  left  to  us,  the  children 
Of  that  land  where'er  we  stray, 

Faith's  pure  light  to  guide  and  cheer  us 
With  its  strong  and  steadfast  ray. 

Grateful  for  the  gift  he  gave  us, 

Fondly,  earnestly  we  claim 
Graces  for  our  sorrowing  country 

Through  Saint  Patrick's  glorious  name  ; 

Joining  in  the  world-wide  chorus 
Which  to-day  thrills  every  clime  : 

"May  Hibernia's  Saint  be  honored, 

Loved,  and  reverenced  through  all  time!" 


SAINT  BENEDICTS  DA  Y. 


I  HEARD  the  linnets  'mid  the  vines 
Sing  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  from  the  budding  trees  o'erhead 

There  came  an  answering  lay  ; 
And  larks'  and  linnets'  thrilling  tones 

Rose  t)lending  gladly  then, 
Till  all  the  woodland  songsters  gave 
Sweet  echoes  o'er  again. 

It  is  the  morning  of  his  feast, 

The  saint  by  angels  led 
To  Subiaco's  desert  lone, 

Monte  Casino's  head — 
Monte  Casino,  where  he    reared 

His  home  of  toil  and   prayer. 
And  framed  the  rule  that  guideth  still 

His  children  everywhere. 

Saint  Benedict,  the  blessed  saint. 

Beloved  from  his  youtli, 
Who  sought  in  solitude  and  peace 

The  shining  path  of   truth  ; 
Who  fled  the  city's  luring  snares, 

And,  in  the  desert  wild, 
Within  his  lonely  cavern   dwelt, 

Our  Lady's  favored  child. 

3S6 


SAINT  BENEDICTS  DAY.  357 

Saint  Benedict,  the  humble  saint : 

Devoid  of  earthly  pride, 
He  sought,  but  sought  in  vain,  his  love 

From  all  but  Heaven  to  hide — 
The  love  that  from  his  spotless  soul 

A  fragrant  incense  soared 
Up  to  the  awful  Presence  where 

The  angel-hosts  adored. 

Saint  Benedict,   the  patient  saint: 

In  vain  around  his  way- 
Envy  and  hatred  raging  strive 

His  holy  work  to  stay  ; 
Meekly  he  followed  in  the  path 

The  Saviour  glorified. 
Without  a  murmur  or  complaint 

Toiled  bravely  till  he  died. 

Saint  Benedict,  the  favored  saint, 

Who  signed  the  sacred  sign, 
And  lo!  the  goblet  shattered  fell 

From  round  the  poisoned  wine  ; 
The  saint  whose  vision  pieFced  beyond 

The  shadows  of  the  grave, 
Whose  voice  had  power    to  make  the  steel 

Float  on  the  river's  wave. 

Saint  Benedict,  saint  of  the  Cross  : 

None  ever  loved  as   he 
Faith's  holy  rood.  Love's    mystic  sign, 

Mount  Calvary's  fruitful  tree. 
Beneath  the  shelter  of  its  arms 

His  holy  laws  he  gave  ; 
It  was  his  armor  during  life. 

Companion  in  the  grave. 


358  SAINT  BENEDICTS  DA  Y. 

Saint  Bewedict,  thrice  blessed  saint, 

Father  of  Monks,  we  hail ! 
Before  this  title  of  our  love 

All  other  titles  pale  ; 
All  otlier  titles  merge  in  this, 

For  first  beneath  his  sway, 
In  Occidental  lands,  men   learned 

To  labor  and  obey. 

Saint  Benedict,  whose  holy  rule 

Such  wondrous  lessons  taught. 
With  knowledge  of  God's  love  divine 

And  saving  maxims  fraught  ; 
Who  with  such  heavenly  wisdom  filled 

The  hours  of  praise  and  prayer, 
Of  prayer  and  praise,  till  either  seemed 

The  joys  of  Heaven  to  share. 

Saint  Benedict,  teacher  of  saints  : 

A  long,  illustrious  line 
Of  priests  and  bishops,  martyrs,  popes, 

Sprang  from  that  rule  of  thine — 
Apostles  of*  the  Faith,  who  bore 

Its  light  to  pagan  lands, 
And  watered  with  their  hearts*  best  blood 

Its  seed  on  desert   sands. 

Saint  Benedict,  thy  spotless  *fame 

Knows  not  the  touch  of  years ; 
Thy  virtues  and  thy  holy  name 

Ring  through  both  hemispheres  : 
Though  Old  World  tyrants  slay  and  spoil. 

Still  there  thy  Order  clings. 
And  'mid  the  New  World's  fertile  fields 

In  fullest  vigor  springs. 


SAINT  BENEDICTS  DAY.  359 

Saint  Benedict,  whose  gentle  heart 

Loved  birds  and  streams  and  flowers, 
Because  they  showed  the  Maker's  love, 

Pray  for  this  land  of  ours — 
Pray  for  the  land   whose  lifted  voice 

Calls  on  thy  name  to-day  ; 
For  blessings  on  its  every  home 

Plead  with  the  Lord,  we  pray. 

Saint  Benedict,  by  all  thy  love. 

By  all  thy  toils  and  prayers, 
By  all  the  graces  thou  didst  win, 

And  which  the  wide  earth  shares. 
The  children  of  the  Faith  who  dwell 

Within  the  golden  West 
Beg  thee  to  guide  them  on   the  way 

To  Heaven's  eternal  rest. 

And  while  the  birds'  sweet  matin  songs 

Go  echoing  far  away, 
And  while  the  bells  for  Ave  ring, 

And  while  thy  children  pray. 
Let  this  poor  wreath  of  wild-wood  flowers 

I  lay  before  thy  shrine 
Whisper  the  love  which  fain  would  fire 

This  simple  lay  of  mine. 

March  21,  1877. 


SAINT  DOMINIC. 


WHEN  the  dreams  of  bygone  ages  rise  before  me 
in  their  glory, 
Painting  in  undying  colors  names  of  honor  and  re- 
nown, 
And  the  shifting  vision  shows  me  rulers  of  long-buried 
empires. 
Kings  whose  royal  race  no  longer  bears  the  sceptre 
and  the  crown  ; 

Warriors  once  the  shield  of  nations  ;  statesmen  brave 
and  bold  and  earnest  ; 
Orators  whose  words  so  golden  thrilled  and  held  the 
hearts  of  men ; 
Artists  who  will  live  for  ever  in  the  pictures  they  have 
left  us ; 
Poets,  authors  who  have  moulded  all  the  future  with 
the  pen  ; 

Valiant    knights  who  lived    devoted    to   their  ladies* 
love  and  honor. 
Wearing  upon  wrist   and    helmet   favors    given   by 
snowy  hands, 
Daring  for  their  sake  the  dangers  of  the  battle  and  the 
tourney, 
Journeying   at   the  joved    ones'  bidding  into  wild 

and  distant  lands — 

360  • 


SAINT  DOMINIC.  36 1 

Then,  amid    the    many  figures  passing   upon  fancy's 
canvas, 
Lo  !  one  robed  in  white  outshineth  'mid  the  loftiest 
of  our  race — 
Leader  of  a  noble  army,  fearless   in   earth's    fiercest 
battles. 
Dauntless  champion  of  a  Lady  hailed   by  angels 
"  full  of  grace  !  " 

Bravely  went  he  forth  to  conquer  in  the  armor  of  her 
choosing, 
With  the   shield  of  spotless  innocence,  the  shining 
sword  of  prayer ; 
And  he  bore  his  Lady's  colors  all  unsullied  in  their 
beauty. 
Till,  the  long,  fierce  conflict  over,  he  resigned  them 
to  her  care. 

Dear  Saint   Dominic  !     One  fair  legend  of  his  life  is 
e'er  before  me, 
And  I  see  his  wondrous  writing  by  the  red  flames 
unconsumed, 
Firm  and  lasting  as  the  Order  that  his  love  called  into 
being, 
And  whose  labors   have  the  darkness  of  so  many 
souls  illumed. 

Saint  whose   miracles   are    countless   as   the    graces 
which  Heaven  gave  him, 
And  whose  name  is  linked  for  ever  with  Our  Lady's 
love  and  fame. 
When  we  tell  our  humble  Aves  on  the  beads  she  gave 
unto  him. 
Then  we    feel    the  sweet    charm  dwelling  in  Saint 
Dominic's  honored  name. 


362  SAINT  DOMINIC. 

Saint  who  toiled,  from  dawn  till  twilight,  for  the  hearts 
by  error  darkened, 
Never  pausing,  never  faltering  at  the  dangers  in  the 
way; 
Saint  whose    rest  was  ever  sweetest  when,  his  daily 
labors  over, 
He   might  kneel   before  the  altar  all  the  long  night 
hours  and  pray. 

Saint   whose  actions  shine  as  brightly  on  the  pages 
Time  has  written 
As  the  stars  that  burn  and  glitter  in  the  deep  blue 
arch  above  ; 
Model   of   all  noble  virtues,  pure  in   hand  and  heart 
and  spirit, 
His  great  genius  ever  glowing  with  the  fervent  fires 
of  love. 

Dear  Saint  Dominic!   'mid  the  glory  of  thy  home  in 
realms  celestial, 
Basking  in  the  light  and  beauty  of   our  tender  Mo- 
ther's smile, 
With  the  happy  souls  around  thee  whom  thy  earthly 
labors  ransomed, 
Oh  !  we  beg  thee  to  remember  us  who  dwell  'mid 
sin  and  guile. 

Lo !  the    dark    and  gloomy  shadows    cast    from   evil 
liours  surround  us, 
And  toil's  bitterness   and  heartache,  press  upon  us 
day  by  day, 
While  a  countless  troop  of  tempters,  who  would  wean 
us  from  allegiance 
To  our  Maker  and  our  Saviour,  seek  to  bend  us  to 
their  sway. 


SAINT  DOMINIC.  363 

As  children    turn  with  confidence    and    pleading   to 
their  father 
When  night's  sable  robe  is  hiding  the  fair  world  from 
their  sight, 
So  we  call  to  tliee,  imploring  thy  guidance  and  as- 
sistance 
That  our  course  may  still  be  upward  to  the  Lamb's 
unclouded  light ; 

That  our  course  may  still  be  upward,  and   the  luring 
smiles  of  pleasure 
And  the  hopes  and  aims  earth-centred  may  no  more 
have  power  to  hold 
Our  spirits  in  their  bondage,  but,  all  baser  thoughts 
repelling, 
We  may  long  with  ceaseless  longing  'mid  the  saints 
to  be  enrolled. 

Champion  of  Our  Lady's  honor !     Preacher    of  her 
fame  and  graces  I 
Dauntless  knight,  whose  crest  was  never  veiled  to 
foeman  in  the  field ! 
Win  for  us  the  grace  of  courage,  fervor,  strength,  and 
perseverance ; 
Stand  beside  us  ever,  ever,  lest  we  weakly  fall  and 
yield. 

Pray  for  us  I — thy  prayers  were  ever  heard  with  favor 
by  our  Motlier, 
And  her  Son  will  ne'er  refuse  her  when  she  offers 
him  thy  prayer. 
Pray  for  us,  for  us  thy  children  ;  hear  us  calling,  call- 
ing humbly; 
Shelter  us  beneath   the  mantle  of  thy  tender  love 
and  care. 


SAINT  THOMAS   OF  AQUINAS. 


THINE  a  name  to  live  for  ever  in  the  world  thy 
life  illumined 
With  the  sweet,  seraphic  lustre  burning  in  thy  spot- 
less soul, 
Where   each   lofty  aspiration   tended   only   to   God's 
honor, 
And  no  wild,  contending  passions  ever  swept  with 
fierce  control. 

"Angel  of  the  Schools,"  thy  wisdom  like  a  stream  of 
living  waters 
Gladdens    all    the    arid    desert   of  the    earth,   and 
vivifies 
With  a   never-failing  vigor    minds  that  humbly   and 
sincerely 
Draw  their  knowledge  from  Truth's  fountain  where 
all  purest  science  lies. 

Lover  of  the  Saviour  lifted  for  his  people  upon  Cal- 
vary, 
For  their  sake  upon  the  rude  cross  in   such  agony 
enthroned, 
How  the  wounds  that  rent  his  body  filled  thy  gentle 
heart  with  anguish. 
Drawing   thee   still  closer,  closer  unto  him  whom 

men  disowned  ! 

364 


SAINT   THOMAS  OF  AQUINAS.  365 

From  sweet  Jesus'  wounds  descended  light  to  guide 
thee  in  thy  labors, 
Thence  flowed  forth  all  grace  and  learning  to  enrich 
thee  witli  their  dower, 
Tlience  the  deeply  hidden   meaning  of  each  theme 
sublime  and  mystic 
AVas  revealed  to  thy  rapt  vision  by  his  love's  celes- 
tial power. 

To  thy  heart  a  precious  volume  was  the  Crucifix,  un- 
folding 
Unto  thee  the  wondrous  secrets  thou  so  well  couldst 
understand : 
That  the  measure  of  man's  loving  was  to  love  God 
without  measure, 
And  to  yield  him  praise  unceasing,  earnest,  fervid, 
deep,  and  grand. 

By  thy  songs  which  seem  as  echoes  of  the  glorious 
strains  that  seraphs 
In  the  golden  courts  of  Heaven  chant  in  joy  before 
his  face. 
By  the  all-consuming  fervor  of  the  holy  zeal  that  fired 
thee, 
And  which  made  thy  humble  spirit  as  a  very  fount 
of  grace, 

It  was  given  thee  that  the  Saviour  of  thy  work  should 
speak  approval, 
Saying   from    his   cross  :    "  O  Thomas !    thou  hast 
written  well  of  me  ; 
What  wouldst  ask  of  me  as  guerdon  ? "     Winning  thy 
enraptured  answer 
Wiiich  surrounding  angels  echoed  :  **  I  desire  naught 
but  thee  ! " 


366  SAINT   THOMAS  OF  AQUINAS. 

O  great  Saint  in  Heaven  rejoicing,  in  the  glory  of 
God's  presence, 
May  the  sweet  desire  that  filled  thee  all  our  hearts 
with  love  inflame. 
Till  life's  only  aim    and  object,  every  thought  and 
word  and  action, 
Be  an  offering  to  the  honor  of  his  dear  and  holy 
Name. 


SAINT  BENEDICT  JOSEPH   LAB  RE, 


"  r^UR  Lady's  Pilgrim  Saint,"  "Saint  of  the  poor," 

U     "  The  Client  of  Dei  Monte's  Virgin  Queen," 
"Loretto's  Pilgrim,"  and  the  faithful  "Guard" 
Who  watched  with  tireless  love  and  fervent  prayer 
Our  Eucharistic  Lord — 

O  blessed  Saint  Benedict, 
These  were  the  titles  love  bestowed  on  thee 
Ere,  answer  to  the  prayer  of  myriad  hearts, 
The  Sovereign  Pontiff  Pius — who,  like  thee. 
Was  Mary's  chosen  servant — to  the  world    , 
Proclaimed  thy  name,  long  hallowed,  crowned  at  last 
With  the  great  honors  which  the  Church  decrees 
To  those  who  of  her  faithful  children  bear 
The  glorious  name  of  Saint. 

In  this  age  of  ours, 
When  Infidelity  holds  regal  sway, 
'Mid  wealth  and  luxury  with  all  their  train 
Of  crying  evils  which  o'errun  the  land, 
Meet  was  it  that  to  oppose  these  ravening  foes 
Such  perfect  model  should  be  given  to  us 
Of  poverty,  of  penance,  and  of  prayer. 

How  shall  we  praise  thee,  grand,  heroic  heart. 
Tried  in  the  fiery  crucible  of  pain 
Till  all  of  earth  and  self  are  burned  away. 
And  naught  remained  but  the  consuming  love 

i6*  367 


368        SAINT  BENEDICT  JOSEPH  LABRE. 

Whose  deathless  flame  its  daily  fuel  found 
In  contemplation  of  Love's  mystery, 
Where  on  the  altar,  veiled  in  humble  guise, 
God  deigns  to  dwell  with  mortals? 

What  were  thy  arms  in  life's  great  conflict?     These  : 

The  Crucifix  at  once  thy  sword  and  shield, 

The  wounded  image  eloquent  to  thee 

Of  all  the  Saviour's  attributes  divine 

And  his  great  mercies  to  the  human  race  ; 

And  Mary's  Rosary  beads,  which  seldom  left. 

Even  for  a  moment's  space,  thy  holy  hands — 

The  beads  which  link  by  link,  a  shining  chain, 

Bound  all  thy  heart  and  heart's  pure  love  to  her, 

The  Queen  Immaculate  of  earth  and  heaven, 

Who  laid  thy  pleadings  at  her  dear  Son's  feet 

And  won  prompt  answer  to  thy  fervent  prayer. 

Nor  were  thy  victories  won  by  prayer  alone  : 

Thine  was  a  soul  that  shrank  not  from  the  pain 

Of  self-inflicted  penitential  stripes. 

So  often  blended  vvitli  thy  sorrowing  tears, 

Till  'neath  the  blows  the  crimson  blood  flowed  forth 

An  oifering  for  the  sins  tliat  weighed  thee  down  ; 

Not  thine  own  sins — virgin  in  life  wert  thou. 

And  stainless  as  a  child  that  knows  no  guile — 

But  for  the  countless  crimes  which  day  by  day 

Cried  out  unceasing  to  the  Throne  of  God 

For  vengeance,  not  for  mercy,  on  mankind  ; 

For  all  wlio  scoffed,  derided,  wounded  him. 

Renewing  Calvary  with  all  its  woes, 

Were  given  thy  prayers,  thy  penances,  thy  fasts. 

Which  made  each  day  throughout  the  livelong  year 

A  rigorous  Lenten  vigil  unto  thee. 


SAINT  BENEDICT  JOSEPH  LABRE.         369 

Wedded  to  holy  Poverty  from  youth, 

Still  from  thy  scanty  means  a  generous  alms 

Thou  gavest  to  the  hungry  ones  around. 

Saint  of  the  poor,  to  thee  a  needy  throng 

Of  pleading  clients  cry  aloud  for  aid  ; 

They  ask  of  thee,  with  confidence  and  love, 

Prayers  that  their  lives  may  be  as  God  desires, 

Humble  and  earnest,  faithful  and  sincere, 

True  to  the  teachings  of  our  guide  the  Church, 

And  filled  with  charity  and  holy  zeal 

To  do  his  will  unmurmuringly  below  ; 

Prayers  for  His  Church,  for  Rome  so  well  beloved. 

Prayers  for  thy  hapless  native  land,  fair  France, 

Who  hails  with  joy  a  noble  son  in  thee. 

List  to  their  pleading,  O  beloved  Saint ! 

Make  their  petition  thine,  and  'twill  be  heard. 


SAINT  AGNES. 


VIRGIN  Spouse  of  Christ  the  Saviour  !  dear  Saint 
Agnes,  we  salute  thee 
With  the  tender  love  and  reverence  thy  angelic  vir- 
tues claim, 
Yielding  to  thee,  holy  maiden,  homage  high  and  pure 
affection, 
Echoing  the  praises  sounding  through  long  ages  to 
thy  name. 

Child  in  years,  in  heart  a  hero,  earth  has  never  hon- 
ored braver, 
For  thy   spirit  passed  unscathed  through  tempta- 
tion's ordeal  dread. 
Fear  within   thy  gentle   bosom  found    no    trembling 
chord  responsive, 
For   thy    firm,  undaunted   courage  was   by  founts 
celestial  fed. 

Wealth  and  power  in  vain  allured  thee  with  the  shin- 
ing gifts  they  offered. 
Pleading  words  or  threatening  mandates  could  not 
make  thee  break  thy  vows  ; 
Thou   couldst   triumph  'mid    the    tortures  which  the 
cruel  tyrant  fashioned, 
Welcoming  death,  whose  coming  gave  thee  sooner 
to  thy  Heavenly  Spouse. 


SAINT  AGNES. 


ZT^ 


Glorious  saint !  pure  virgin  martyr  !  in  God's  presence 
now  rejoicing, 
By  the  Bridegroom's  liand  rewarded  with  the  price- 
less palm  and  crown, 
Thou   who  art  so  near  and    precious  to  the  Sacred 
Heart  of  Jesus, 
Plead  with  him   that  we  may  never  feel   his  anger's 
dreadful  frown. 

Win  for  us  thy  dauntless  courage  to  resist  the  powers 
of  evil, 
Thy  God-given  strength  in   trial,  and  thy  purity  of 
heart ; 
Ask,  dear  Saint  of  love  and   innocence,  and,  answer- 
ing thy  pleadings. 
Thy  chosen  Spouse  his  blessings  to  thy  clients  will 
impart. 


SAINT  VIVIANA, 


HID  in  the  catacombs  of  Rome  while  centuries 
rolled  away, 

Saint  Viviana's  form  reposed  until  that  happy  day 

When  Science  led  her  searching  bands  their  silence  to 
invade, 

And  found  where,  'neath  the  marble  cold,  the  martyr- 
child  was  laid, 

And  brought  the  sacred  relics  forth.  What  changes 
earth  had  known 

Since,  welcoming  the  martyr's  doom,  she  won  the 
martyr's  throne  ! 


The  Roman  Empire's  pomp  and  pride  for  ever  passed 
away. 

The  tyrant  and  his  subject   hordes   long  mouldered 
into  clay, 

The  memory  of  their  lives  a  name,  their  palaces  laid 
low, 

Naught  left  unchanged  but  the  true  Faith  she  died  for 
long  ago — 

The  Faith  the  Saviour  planted  first,  which  his  apostles 
spread, 

That  lives  of  saints  have  glorified  and  blood  of  mar- 
tyrs fed ; 

372 


'SAINT    VI VI AN  A.  373 

The  holy  Faith  whose  fadeless  light   illumines  every 

clime, 
The    rock-built   Church    whose  cross-crowned   walls 

have  triumphed  over  time — 
The    Church   whose   children    fondly    own,  where'er 

their  land  or  home, 
Allegiance  to  God's    Vicar  here,    the   holy   Pope  of 

Rome, 
Our  noble  Pontiff-King,  who  gave  unto  this  Western 

fold 
The  relics  of  the  martyr-saint,  a  treasure  fair  to  hold. 

When   pleading  for  his  scattered  flock  our  reverend 

Bishop  stood 
And   gave  the  promise   years  of  toil  and    holy    zeal 

made  good  : 
A  proud  cathedral  he  has  raised  in  Viviana's  name. 
And  the  fair  land  beside  the  sea  an  added  grace  doth 

claim. 
The  "City  of  the  Angels"  holds  the  precious  treasure 

now. 
More  precious    than  the  royal   gems  that  wreathe  a 

monarch's  brow — 

The  relics  of  the  holy  saint,  the  virgin  pure  and  mild. 
Who  witnessed  for  the   faith  of  Christ  while  yet  she 

was  a  child  ; 
The  saint  whose  pleading  prayers  for  us  a  bounteous 

wealth  will  bring 
Of  graces  from  the  treasure-house  of  Heaven's  most 

gracious  King  : 
The  stainless  life,  the  holy  death,  the  virtues  manifold 
Of  our  dear   Patroness  shall  win  joys  for  the  land  of 

gold. 


374  SAINT  VI VI AN  A. 


Her  courage  as  a  shield  of  power  will  guard  the  young 

from  sin, 
And  cheer  them  on  the  upward  way,   the  heavenly 

crown  to  win  ; 
But  closest  round  our  Bishop's  life    her  tender   care 

will  twine 
With  blessings  still  a  thousandfold  on  him  who  reared 

her  shrine, 
Whose   zealous  heart  and  tireless  hands  have  toiled 

for  God  alone, 
Till  whitening  harvests   brighten  now  the  desert  he 

hath  sown. 


EVENING  PR  A  YER    TO   MY  GUARDIAN 
ANGEL, 


MY  angel-guide,  with  thee  I  kneel 
Before  God's  throne  to-night ; 
Oh!  beg  of  him  to  be  my  shield, 
My  strength  upon  life's  battle-field, 

And  with  his  fadeless   light 
Illume  for  me  the  upward  way, 
Where  in  his  beauty's  cloudless  ray 
My  ransomed  soul  at  last  will  feel 
The  joys  that  ne'er  decay. 

Sheltered  beneath  thy  loving  care 

Since  childhood's  earliest  hour, 
My  heart  has  felt  from  day  to  day 
Thy  watchful  love,  thy  tender  sway, 

Thy  chaste  enlightening  power. 
Oh  !  blend  thy  earnest  prayer  with  mine^ 
Win  for  me  from  his  grace  divine 

Patience,  the  heavenly  dower, 
Which  makes  my  cross  less  hard  to  bear> 

Till  peace  and  rest  are  mine. 

I  do  not  beg  of  him  to  take 

All  suffering  from  my  life. 
Only  for  grace  and  strength  to  bear 
The  cross  his  mercy  bids  me  share, 

The  cross  with  blessings  rife; 
To  hail  with  joy  the  cross  he  blessed. 
The  cross  his  holy  hands  caressed, 
The  cross  he  carried  for  my  sake 

And  all  earth's  wrong  redressed. 


FOR  THE  SOULS  IN  PURGA  TORY.'^ 


IN  thy  mild  and  sweet  compassion  we  beg  of  thee, 
O  Mary  ! 
To  hasten  with  assistance  to  the  souls  that  writhe 
in  pain 
Amid  purgatorial  fire,  languishing  'neath  keenest  tor- 
tures, 
While  the,  cleansing  flame  effaces  every  sin's  de- 
filing stain. 

To  the  souls  of  tlie  departed,  O  Mary !  be  propitious, 
Thou  whose  voice  of  pure  entreating  is  all-powerful 
with  thy  Son  ; 
Daughter  of  the  world's  Creator,  Motlier  of  its  King 
and  Saviour, 
Ask  him  that  the  bonds  which  hold  them  by  his 
mercy  be  undone. 

The  dead,  O  pious   Mary !   send   up   their  sighs  and 
longings, 
Desiring,  oh  !    so  fervently,  that  they  may  be  set 
free 
From  the  torments  laid  upon  them,  and  within  thy 
glorious  presence 
Dwell  'mid  joys  that  are  eternal  for  evermore  with 
thee. 


A  free  rendering  of  an  old  Latin  hymn. 
376 


FOR  THE  SO  ULS  IN  P  URGA  TOR  V.         2>77 

Oh'!  haste,  dear  Mother  Mary ;  show  the  depths  of  thy 
compassion 
Unto  those  who  are  lamenting  in  tlie  bitterness  of 
woe; 
Obtain   for  them   that   Jesus  by  his  Sacred  Wounds 
would  heal  them — 
Wounds  from  which  flowed  forth  the  Precious  Blood 
tliat  gladdens  all  below. 

True  hope  of  those  who  cry  to  thee,  O  Mary  !  hear 
the  pleading 
Of  the  multitude  of  faitliful  who  for  their  brethren 
pray, 
Beseeching  tiiee-in  mercy  to  appease  thy  Son's  just 
anger, 
And  win  for  them  tlie  blest  reward  of  Heaven's  un- 
fading day. 

O  good  and  gracious  Mary!  grant  that  the  tears  of 
sorrow 
We  shed  before  the  Judge's  feet  may  quench  the 
avenging  fires, 
And  the  souls  set  free  from  prison  soar  up  on  wings 
exultant 
To  chant  their  Maker's  praises  amid  angelic  choirs. 

And   when   in  God's  awful  judgment  the   Son   shall 
come  in  splendor, 
Searching  all  hearts  with  a  rigor  language  but  too 
poorly  paints, 
Judging  all  with  strictest  justice,  pray  for  us,  for  us, 
O  Mary  ! 
That   we  then  may  be   found  worthy   to  be   num- 
bered with   the  saints. 


THE  CALL  A, 


0  FRAGRANT  flower,   pure  and  sweet, 
Whose  parent  blossoms  sprang  to  birth 
Where  Egypt's  mystic  river  laves 
The  ruined  wonders  of  the  earth. 

All-spotless  as  the  gleaming  snow 
When  drifted  on  the  trackless  height 

Of  mountain-tops,  I  see  thee  glow, 
Emblem  of  purity  so  bright, 

The  fairest  of  fair  Nature's  gems 
Love  offers  at  Our  Lady's    shrine. 

As  though  her  pitying  glance  had  lent 
An  added  beauty  unto  thine. 

And  looking  on  thy  chalice  white, 
A  thought  came  o'er  my  spirit  there, 

Where  incense  burned,  and  music  throbbed, 
And  sweet  psalms  filled  the  house  of  prayer. 

'Twas  thus  :  that  when  the  Virgin  dwelt 

An  exile  by  the  slumbrous  Nile, 
The  fragrant  lilies  on  its  banks 

Basked  in  the  glory  of  her  smile. 

And  there  the  Infant  Saviour  touched 
Some  opening  blossom  as  He  passed, 

And  to  its  gleaming  petals  gave 
A  beauty  evermore  to  last — 
378 


THE   CALL  A. 


379 


A  beauty  meet,  as  now,  to  glow- 
Peerlessly  lovely  at  the  shrine 

Where  our  dear  Mother  fondly  clasps 
Within  her  arms  the  Babe  Divin.e. 


REMEMBER  THE  DEAD, 


[The  church  bells  throughout  the  diocese  of  Monterey  and  Los  Angeles 
are  tolled  every  evening  at  eight  o'clock  to  remind  the  faithful  to  pray  for 
the  souls  of  the  faithful  departed.] 


THE  trembling  stars  look  down 
From  their  far  azure  throne, 
As  though  with  dewy    tears 

Answering  the  bell's  sad  tone, 
As  through  the  tranquil  eve 

With  solemn  sound  it  tolls, 
Calling  on  all  to  pray 

For  earth's  departed  souls. 

"  Remember  those  who  sleep 
Cold  in  each  narrow  bed  ; 

Remember  them  and  pray, 

Pray  for  the  loved  and  dead." 

And  waked  by  this   appeal, 

Fond  memory  points  again 
To  dear  graves  scattered  far 

By  mountain  and  by  glen  ; 
To  fields  where  banners  flew, 

Where  battle's  thunders  rolled, 
Where  many  a  mother's  joy 

Sleeps  'neath   the' cold,  damp  mould. 
380 


REMEMBER    THE  DEAD:  38 1 

And  ocean's  deep  voice  names 

Its  silent  guests  once  more — 
Brave  hearts  who  sank   to  rest 

Amid  the  tempest's  roar. 
From  scenes  where  plenty  ruled, 

Or  famine  held   her  sway, 
From  many  a  nameless  grave, 

Friends  plead  with  us  to  pray. 

"Remember  those  who  sleep 

Cold  in  each  narrow  bed  ; 
Remember  them  and  pray. 

Pray  for  the  loved  and  dead." 

O    holy  thought,  to   keep 

Our  lost  ones  still  in  view. 
With   sweet  largesse  of  prayer 

To  prove  that  we  are  true. 
Then  while  across  the  vale 

The  solemn  summons  rings, 
Let  prayers   for  their  repose 

Mount  to  the   King  of  Kings. 


A  MESSAGE. 


"Let  us  strive  to    love  our  dear   Lord  and  his  and   our  Blessed  Mother 
every  day  a  little  more,  so  that  we  may  meet  in  Heaven." — F.  G. 

OH  !  sweet  that  daily  task  should  be  ; 
For  love,  love  in   return  would  gain 
In  measure  boundless  as  the  sea, 
And  unalloyed  by  care  or  pain. 

So  on  the  unwritten  page  of  Time 
Given  by  the  New  Year  do  I  trace 

Thy  message,  with  its  power  sublime 
To  make  each   day  a  day  of  grace  ; 

To  make  each  day  a  link  of  light 

In  love's  great  chain,  that  more  and  more 

Our  souls  may  feel  the  radiance  bright 
Reflected  from  Heaven's  golden  shore; 

Taking  as  motto  for  the  year. 
And  lesson  for  the  hours  of  life, 

That  sentence,  ringing  like  a  cheer 
Across  earth's  sounding  sea  of  strife — 

The  thought  that  thrills  me  as  I  read, 
That  fills  my  mind   with  sweet  desire, 

And  bids  me  humbly  bend  to  plead 
For  one  spark  of  celestial  fire  ; 

382 


A   MESSAGE.  383 


One  little  ray  of  zeal  divine 

To  set  my  darkened  soul  ablaze, 

And  make  this  faltering  heart  of  mine 
A  holocaust  of  joyous   praise ; 

That  it  may  know  no  earthly  love, 
No  music  save  my  Jesus'  name, 

And,  yearning  for  his  home  above, 
His  Mother's  sweet  protection  claim 

Drawn  nearer  to   her  day  by   day. 
Nearer    to  her,  nearer  her  Son : 

Held  safe  beneath  their  gentle  sway 
Till  life's  sad  pilgrimage  is  done. 


IN  MISSION   TIME. 


WE  had  waited,  watched  and  waited,  for  the  golden 
hours  of  spring-time, 
For  the  glad  mid-April  moments   and  the  blessing 
they  would  bring, 
For  the  grand  and  glorious  message,  royal  edict  of 
the  Master, 
Borne  to  us  in  love  and  mercy  by  the  envoys  of 
the  King ; 

Till  the  first  morn  of  the  Mission,  dawning  over  hill 
and  valley 
Where   in  darkly  ominous  masses   hung  the  rain- 
clouds  brooding  low, 
Shot  one  long,  broad  ray  of  splendor  over  all  the  land 
around  us, 
For  a  few  brief  moments  lighting  up  the  scene  with 
vivid  glow. 

Happy  omen  of  the  beauty  and  the  joy  of  heavenly 
rapture 
Which  would  pierce  so  many  bosoms,  waking  them 
from  dangerous  sleep  ! 
Then  the  storm  arose  in  fury,  shook  abroad  its  misty 
banners, 
And  the  hail  beat  fiercely  round  us  from  the  frozen 
upper  deep. 

384 


IN  MISSION   TIME.  385 

But  before  the  lighted  altar  all  was  calm  and  holy 
quiet, 
As,  by  cross  and  priest  preceded,  up  the  sounding 
aisle  they  came  ; 
The  brave  soldiers  of  Christ's  legion,  messengers  of 
earth's  Redeemer, 
Conquering   hearts    the    hardest,    sternest,   by   the 
power  of  Jesus'  name. 

Ah  !  our  spirits  gave  them  greeting  as  we  gazed  on 
them  with  reverence. 
Gathering  from  the  lessons  taught  us  messages  of 
truth  divine, 
As,  with  tones  where  love  vibrated — love  of  God  and 
of  his  creatures — 
They  poured  forth  on  wounded  spirits  Faith's  blest 
chrism  of  oil  and  wine. 

Oh  !  with  eloquence  impassioned   they  portrayed  the 
priceless  value 
Of  the  soul,  which  Christ  our  Saviour  became  man  . 
to  save  from  loss  ; 
Pointing  out  to  us  the  dangers  that  surround  life's 
flowery  pathway, 
Showing  how  they  may  be  vanquished  by  the  all- 
protecting  Cross 

And  the  powerful  intercession  of  the  glorious  Virgin 
Mary, 
Whose  voice  is  ever  pleading  for  the  erring  sons  of 
men, 
Who  wins  for  sinners  mercy,  who  averts  from  us  God's 
anger, 
Who   when   we  fall   would  lift   us   to  love's   lofty 
heights  again — 


386  IN  MISSION   TIME. 

The  Virgin  Mother   Mary,  the  beautiful,  the  spotless, 
The    Lily    bloom    of    Israel,   the   angels'    crowned 
Queen, 
Hailed  by  a  thousand  titles  her  attributes  proclaim- 
ing, 
Mary  given  us  as  a  Mother  amid  Calvary's  tortures 
keen  : 

God's  Mother,  pure  and  clement,  made  ours  by  that 
adoption, 
Earth  and  Heaven  alike  are  thrilling  to  her  songs  of 
praise  sublime. 
Oh  !  we  felt  her  blessed   influence  by  the   ceaseless 
tide  of  graces, 
By  the  peace  and  joy  and  comfort,  of  the  holy  Mis- 
sion time  ;  . 

By  the  reverent  throng  of  worshippers    the    angel's 
"  Hail  "  repeating, 
Their  blended  voices  rising,  from  the  greatest  to 
the  least  ; 
By  the  penitential  spirits  pardon. in  confession  seek- 
ing; 
By  the  hearts  regenerate  hastening  to  Love's  Eu- 
charistic  Feast ; 

By  the  glad,  pure-hearted  children  round  the  shrine 
where,  fair  and  fragrant, 
Shone   a  wealth   of  wreathed  blossoms,  while  the 
waxen  tapers'  light 
Shed  a  soft,  illumining  radiance   o'er  the   youthful 
votaries  bending. 
Tendering  to  their  holy  Mother' all  life's  morning 
fair  and  bright. 


IN  MISSION    TIME.      ^  387 

Shall  we  trace  the  daily  lessons  ?     Nay,  for  they  are 
deeply  graven 
On'each  faitliful  heart,  imparting  courage  for  the 
years  to  be. 
Lessons  linked  and  interwoven  with  rare  gems  of  light 
celestial — 
Gems  of  Faith  and  Hope  encircled  by  the  gold   of 
Charity. 

Lessons  ne'er  to  be  forgotten.    Lo  !  the  Mission  Cross 
bears  witness 
Unto  each  and  all,  recalling  wliat  these  grand  Re- 
demptorists  taught; 
Glorious  symbol  of  salvation,  Avith  such   solemn  rites 
erected, 
It  will  be  to  us  for  ever  with  the  brightest  memories 
fraught. 

It  will  speak  to  us  in  pleading,  or  in  voice  of  solemn 
warning, 
Breathe    of  sin    and   death    and  judgment,  tell  of 
pardon,  joy  restored 
Through  the  prayers  of  our  fond  Mother,  liope  and 
solace  of  earth's  pilgrims, 
Or,  in  eloquence  undying,  speak  the  mercies  of  the 
Lord. 

As  we   gaze   on  it   the   picture  of   the    solemn  cere- 
monial 
Will  arise  upon  our  vision  :  we  will  see  the  reverent 
throng 
Standing  where  tlie  locust  blossoms  showered  to  earth 
their  snowy  petals, 
And  the  lofty  pines  seemed  listening  to  the  choirs' 
sweet  strains  of  song; 


388  IN  MISSION   TIME. 

See  the  earnest  faces  lifted  as   the  Cross  was  borne 
amongst  them, 
And  the  priest,  white-robed  and  stately,  following 
Faith's  symbol  came  ; 
Then,  as  'neath  the  starry  heavens   in   its  place  the 
Cross  was  planted, 
Mark  the  blazing  tapers   round  it  shining  like   a 
ring  of  flame — 

Emblem  of  the  Faith   that  quickened  with  its  deep 
and  strong  pulsations 
Hearts   whose    parent   blood   was   nurtured   under 
many  a  foreign  sun  ; 
Europe's  varied  nations  blending  here  their  children 
with  the  people 
Whose   brave   sires   the  Cross   had    planted    when 
Spain  first  these  wild  shores  won  ; 

Men  of  many  lands  united  in  one  faith  and  hope  and 
purpose, 
That  where'er  their  steps  might  wander,  and  what- 
ever might  betide, 
The  true  Cross  would  be  their  Labarum,  be  the  sign 
by  which  to  conquer 
All  the  legions  of  the  foemen,  all  tlie  demon  hordes 
of  pride. 

"  Holy  Cross  whose  blessed  shadow  falls  with  vivify- 
ing power, 
Wooing  dews  of  grace  to  brighten  the  parched  de- 
sert of  the  soul, 
Which  sin's  simoom  sweeping  over  had  left  seared  and 
dry  and  arid, 
And  the  passions,  chained  no  longer,  rule  with  stern 
and  fierce  control, 


IN  MISSION   TIME.  389 

"  May  thy  shadow  rest  for  ever   with   its  great   and 
countless  blessings 
Upon  all  who  stood  around  thee,  upon  every  home 
and  heart 
Where  salvation's  sign  is  honored  with  meet  homage 
due  and  reverent, 
And  the  peace  thy  presence  bringeth  from  amidst 
us  ne'er  depart. 

"  Be  to  us,  through  gloom  or  sunlight,  voice  of  warn- 
ing or  of  pleading  ; 
Woo  us  to  the  joys  of  Heaven,  warn  us  of  the  woes 
of  crime  ; 
Be  to  us  a  sweet  reminder  of  those  precious  days  of 
graces, 
Of  the  heavenly  joy  and  comfort  of  the  holy  Mission 
time  !  " 


ALL  SOULS'  DAY. 


'•  We  have  loved  them  in  life,  let  us  love  them  even  after  death."— J^. 
A  mbrose-  • 

WE  keep  as  days  of  solemn  prayer 
The  anniversaries  of  our  dead, 
Counting  the  moments  that  have  fled 
Since  last  we  held  them  in  our  care, 

Striving  with  tenderest  love  to  ease 

Each  fevered  form,  eacli  pain-racked  brow, 
Each  heart  so  cold  and  pulseless  now 

When  death  has  bade  its  sufferings  cease. 

And  we  are  lonely  in   our  grief. 

And  murrhur,  "  Never  woe  like  ours 
O'ershadowed  earth's  love-haunted  bowers  ; 

No  joy,  alas  I  was  e'er  so  brief." 

But  lo  !  on  this  November  day 

One  universal  grief  controls 

The  great,  wide  world,  which  weeps  all  souls  - 
Passed  from  their  tenements  of  clay. 

From  pole  to  pole,  from  sea  to  sea. 
The  cold,  calm,  crystal  air  is  stirred. 
The  same  imploring  prayer  is  heard 

Of  "Miserere  Domine." 


ALL   SOULS'  DAY. 


391 


**  Eternal  Rest "  all  voices  plead  : 

"  For  those  whose  labors  past  and  o'er, 

Await  us  on  the  other  shore, 
Be  thou,  O  Lord!  their  glorious  meed." 

All  nations,  howsoe'er  remote, 
In  the  communion  of  the  Saints 
Pour  forth  the  solemn,  dirge-like  plaints 

In   mournful  strains  that  heavenward  float. 

And,  bound  together  by  this  tie 

Of  Faith's  fond  prayer  for  those  we  love, 
While  here  we  linger  let  us  prove 

Not  deaf  to  their  appealing  cry;* 

But,  bending  humbly  at  the  shrine. 
With  contrite  hearts  uplifted  plead 
God's  mercy  for  the  souls  in  need, 

And  by  the  Sacrifice  Divine 

Offered  by  consecrated  hands 
Upon  the  altar  day  by  day, 
Beg  of  Love's  Victim  sweet  to  stay 

The  purging  fires,  and  bid  his  bands 

Of  angels  bear  to  him  on  high 
The  spirits  longing  for  their  rest 
Within  his  presence,  pure  and  blest. 

Who  rules  alike  the  earth  and  sky. 

Not  fruitless  for  ourselves  each  prayer 
We  offer  for  the  souls  in  pain : 
For  us  will  rise  their  grateful  strain 

When  called  the   joys  of  Heaven  to  share. 

*  "  Have  pity  on  me,  have  pity  on  me,  at  least  you  my  friend*,  for  the 
hand  of  the  Lord  hath  touched  me." 
i8* 


392  ALL  SOULS'  DAY. 

Then  through  the  sad  November  days 
Give,  give  your  spiritual  alms, 
Join  in  the  universal  psalms 

Of  pleading  love  will  turn  to  praise, 

And  win  for  those  whose  loss  we  mourn 
The  right  to  pass  the   shining  gate 
With  spotless  robes,  and  stand  elate 

With  joy  at  their  celestial  bourne. 

November  2,  1884. 


Legends  and  Ballads. 


THE  CROSS. 


A    GASPESIAN    LEGEND. 


[The  following  curious  incident  is  related  in  the  Annals  oj"  the  Propaga- 
tion of  the  Faith,  by  Father  Le  Clercq,  a  Recollet  monk.] 

BENEATH  the  tall  Canadian  pines 
The  council-fire  burned  bright, 
And  the  old  Cross,  with  moss  o'ergrown, 

Shone  crimson  in  its  light. 
Around  it  in  deep  silence  sate 

Stern  chiefs  and  warriors  brave, 
And  'mid  them  one,  a  priest  of  God 

From  o'er  the  ocean's  wave — 
A  Teacher  of  the  Word  of  God, 

Who  dared  the  deep's  wild  storm, 
With  Christ's  undying  love  and  faith 

The  chill  north  winds  to  warm  ; 
A  teacher  of  the  Word  of  God, 

Whose  youth's  impassioned  glance 
Had  kindled  'mid  the  storied  scenes 

Of  glory-loving  France. 
But,  at  the  summons  from  on  high. 

Home,  friends,  and  land  left  he, 
To  win  new  kingdoms  for  his  Lord 

Beyond  the  rolling  sea. 
His  banner  was  the  Cross  of  Christ, 

Zeal  for  the  Faith  his  sword. 
His  armor  all  invincible 

The  Gospel  of  the  Word. 

395 


396  THE  CROSS. 


His  chapel  was  the  spreading  woods 

In  grandeur  dense  and  dim, 
The  river  sang  his  Matins  sweet, 

The  birds  his  Vesper  hymn. 
No  need  of  organ-notes  liad  he 

'Mid  nature's  ringing  choir, 
When  the  weird  zephyr's  fingers  smote 

The  pine's  impassioned  lyre. 
He  sought  the  savage  of  the  wild 

By  forest,  mount,  and  stream, 
And  lit  the  gloom  of  pagan  night 

With  Faith's  celestial  beam. 
Chief  'mid  the  many  tribes  that  ruled 

That  rugged  northern  strand 
Dwelt  one  which  bore  the  honored  name, 

Cross-bearers  of  the  land. 
He  travelled  through  their  wide  domain. 

And  found  by  town  and  fell 
The  emblem  of  God's  peace  with  man : 

The  Indians  loved  it  well. 
And  on  that  evening,  as  they  sat 

Around  the  mystic  sign, 
He  questioned  whence  amid  them  came 

That  symbol  so  divine. 

Then  spoke  the  wise  man  of  the  tribe  : 

"  It  chanced,  long  years  ago. 
The  pestilence  with  breath  of  fire 

Our  mighty  tribe  laid  low. 
Day  after  day  men  sank  to  die 

By  forest,  hut,  or  cave. 
And  those  who  loved  them  could  not  stretch 

A  pitying  hand  to  save  ; 


THE   CROSS. 


397 


Day  after  day  our  teachers  made 

Oblations  at  the  shrine 
Of  deities  tradition   taught 

Our  sires  to  deem  divine. 
But  still  the  sun  no  mercy  gave, 

The  stars  no  healing  shed, 
The  spirits  of  the  hill  and  grove 

Looked  calmly  on  our  dead. 
Till  one  called  out  in  agony 

On  Him  whom  all  men  fear — 
The  Manitou  whose  fingers  guide 

The  chariot  of  the  year. 
That  night,  when  o'er  the  sleeping  camp 

The  pall  of  silence  lay, 
Around  the  wise  men's   slumbering  forms 

Shone  a  celestial  ray, 
And  in  its  golden  light  revealed 

A  grand,  majestic  form  : 
No  voice  was  needed  to  proclaim 

Him  Ruler  of  the  Storm. 
In  waves  of  beauty  to  his  feet 

A  seamless  robe  flowed  down'; 
The  glory  of  the  opened  heavens 

His  kingly  brow  did  crown  ; 
Within  his  hand  he  bore  a  Cross, 

And  bade  our  sleeping  sires 
Raise  such  a  sign  within  their  homes 

And  near  their  council-fires, 
And  that  the  honor  which  they  paid 

Unto  the  sign  he  gave 
An  offering  of  peace  should^be 

The  dying  tribe  to  save. 


398  THE   CROSS. 


"  The  vision  fled,  the  morning  broke, 

The  wise  men  gathered  round. 
And  called  in  haste  their  followers 

Unto  the  council-ground. 
Then  in  its  centre  there  they  raised 

Yon  Cross,  now  mossed   and  old, 
More  precious  to  Gaspesian  hearts 

Than  wealth  of  gems  or  gold. 
Yon  honored  symbol,  gray  with  age, 

Looked  on  our  nation's  growth. 
Won  by  its  power  from  awful  death 

To  health  and  vigor  both. 
For  this  impressed  upon  our  robes 

The  sacred  sign  we  bear, 
And,  safe  from  harm,  'mid  dangers  walk 

Beneath  its  sheltering  care. 
For  this,  when  from  our  midst  we  send 

A  messenger  afar 
To  bear  to  other  chiefs  our  words 

Of  good-will  or  of  war, 
Our  chieftain  from  his  bosom  takes 

The  fairest  Cross  we  own, 
And  to  the  bravest  of  his  band 

The  message  maketh  known  ; 
Then  round  his  neck  he  hangs  the  Cross, 

To  guard,  with  holy  spell, 
His  body  from  the  foemen's   snares, 

His  soul  from  charms  of  hell. 
We  bear  it  when  our  light  canoe 

Speeds  down  the  summer  tide  ; 
In  forest  dense,  or  lone  morass, 

'Tis  ever  at  our  side. 


THE   CROSS.  399 


The  treasure  in  whose  healing  balm 

Was  found  a  power  to  save, 
The  object  of  our  nation's  love  ; 

Rests  with  us  in  the  grave; 
Else,  when  our  footsteps  free  shall  press 

That  bright  and  golden  strand, 
Our  kindred  would  not  know  their  own 

Who  join  the  spirit  band." 


PHILIFS  MOTHER. 


WHERE  tlie  Connemara  mountains   rise  in  rude 
and  rugged  grandeur, 
Towering  o'er  the  "Old  Land's  "  beauty,  stretching 
many  a  mile  away, 
In  an  humble,  low- roofed  cabin  lay  an  aged  widow 
dying 
When  the  evening  shades  trod  westward  in  the  foot- 
steps of  the  day. 

By    her   bedside    sat    the   pastor,  speaking  words  of 
heavenly  comfort — 
Words  whose  knowledge  is  the  treasure  of  the  sim- 
ple Irish  poor, 
When  God's  priest,  who  knows  and  loves  them,  in  their 
sorrow  stands  amid  them, 
Sharing  with  them   all   the  trials  they  are  called  on 
to  endure. 

Long  he  spoke  to  her  of  Heaven,  and  the  love  the 
holy  Saviour 
Bears  to  those  for  whom  he  suffered  upon  Calvary 
long  ago  ; 
How  to  him  the  poor  are  precious — then  the  good 
man's  accents  faltered, 
For  he  knew  the  widow's  life  had  seen  but  poverty 
and  woe. 

400 


PHILIP'S  MOTHER. 


401 


In  the  days  of  want  and  anguish,  when  the  famine 
swept  the  country, 
Husband,  children — all  had  perished,  dying,  starv- 
ing one  by  one. 
Save  the  youngest,  all  were  taken  ;  but  our  dear  Lord, 
in  his  mercy, 
Left   the  poor,  heart-broken   mother    Philip,    now 
her  only  son. 

She  had  borne  her  cross   in  patience,  never  murmur- 
ing against  Heaven, 
In  her  tearless  anguish  saying,  o'er  and  o'er :  "  It 
is  God's  will  "  ; 
Struggling  on  through  that  black  period,  through  that 
night  of  gloom  and  horror. 
Till  the  help  came  which  brought  succor  and  food 
to  little  Phil. 

'*  Never,"  would  the  fond,  proud  mother  say,  "  was  son 
like  to  my  Philip — ■ 
So  honest  and  so  truthful,  so  loving  and  so  kind  ; 
And  though  he  has  crossed  the  ocean,  it  is  but  to  win 
me  comforts, 
And  soon  he'll  send  to  bring  me  to  the  home  that 
he  will  find." 

Now,  while  she  strove  to  listen,  her  eager  thoughts 
would  wander 
Over  the  wide  waste  of  waters  to  the  far  Pacific's 
strand. 
Longing  for  a  glance  from  blue  eyes  that  would  never 
more  behold  her, 
For  one  fond,  close  farewell  pressure  of  her  absent 
darling's  hand; 


402  PHILIP'S  MOTHER. 

Till  at  last  she  said :  "  O  father  !  you  will  write  and 
tell  my  Philip, 
Though  the  news  will  grieve  him  sorely,  that  his 
mother  is  no  more  ; 
And    give    him    my    farevvell  blessing — God  and  the 
Blessed  Virgin 
Be  his  guardians  till  his  journey  on  this    earth  is 
passed  and  o'er  ! 

And   tell   liim   to  be  faithful  to  the  promise  that  he 
made  me 
When  we  parted  by  the  hillside,  this  spring  a  year 
ago  : 
In  his  trials  and  in  his  crosses  to  think  upon  Christ's 
Passion, 
And  make  our  holy  Motlier  liis  advocate  in  woe. 

Then   I   gave  into   his   keeping   the  Rosary,  once  his 
father's, 
And  he  promised  me  that  daily  he  would  seek  Our 
Lady's  aid  ; 
And  he  tells  me  in  his  letters  he  has  never  yet  for- 
gotten 
To   say  it  over  daily  when    at  evening's  hour  he 
prayed. 

It  was  all  I  had  to  give  him,  but  no  linked  and  shin- 
ing jewels 
Ever  could   have  been  so  precious  as  that  Rosary 
to  me  ; 
*Tis  a  talisman  to  guard  him,  and  bind  him  still  more 
closely 
To  his  Faith  and  all  its  teachings  in  that  country 
o'er  the  sea." 


PHILIP'S  MOTHER.  4O3 

She  paused  in  sudden  weakness,  as  a  footstep  crossed 
the  threshold, 
And  a  passing  neighbor  entered  with  a  kind   "  God 
save  all  here ! 
I  bring  you  news  of  Philip;  here's  a  package  for  his 
mother — " 
Then  he  ceased,  awe-struck  and  silent,  when  he  saw 
death  was  so  near. 

But  the  worn,  white  face  turned  on  him,  and  the  fad- 
ing eyes  grew  brighter  : 
"  Kind  neighbor,  give  it  to    me.     Ah !   'tis   not  in 
Philip's  hand  ! 
Read  the  letter  for   me,  father;  my  sight   is  dimming 
strangely. 
Is  my  poor  boy  ill  and  lonely  in  that  far-off  foreign 
land?". 

Kind  hands  undid  the  package,  when  lo!   from  out 
its  foldings 
The  old  brown  Rosary  slipping  dropped  down  upon 
the  bed, 
Where  the  dying  woman  clasped  it,  and  to  her  wan 
lips  pressed  it. 
Saying  softly :    "  By  this  token  I  know  my  boy  is 
dead. 

"  For  never,  were  he  living,  would   it   have  left  his 
keeping." 
Then  the  pastor  read  the  letter  which  a  stranger's 
hand  had  penned, 
Full  of  pitying  expressions  for  the  mother  whose  last 
darling 
In  dying  left  the  message  it  was  his  sad  lot  to  send. 


404  PHILIP'S  MOTHER. 

**  We    all  loved  Philip   dearly,   poor   boy,  he  was  so 
gentle, 
Counting  eacli    day's   toil    a    pleasure,  because  he 
seemed  to  see 
In  the  hard-won  gains  it  brought   him  the  home  of 
ease  and  comfort 
To  which  his  love  would  bring  you  from  the  island 
o'er  the  sea. 

But  one  day  the  camp  was   startled  by  a  sudden  wail 
of  terror, 
And  the  news  spread  far   and   swiftly  that  a  bank 
had  given  way  ; 
And    men  were   stricken  lifeless,  or   else  were  lying 
helpless, 
Closely    prisoned  by  the    timbers    and    the    fallen 
mass  of  clay. 

Soon  ready  hands  were  toiling  to  clear  away  the  barrier, 
And  the  slain,  disfigured  miners  were  brought  for- 
ward, one  by  one  ; 
Then  the  last — the  only  living  one  of  five  who  on  that 
morning 
Went  forth  so  glad  and  hopefully — was  lifted  out, 
your  son. 

All  crushed  and  bleeding  sorely,  but  his  right  arm  was 
unbroken. 
And  his  hand  held  close   the  Rosary  that  was  ever 
near  his  heart ; 
With  painful  gasps  he  murmured  o'er  the  Aves  as  we 
bore  him 
To  the  cabin   whence  so  joyously  we  had  seen  the 
youth  depart. 


PHILIP'S  MOTHER.  405 

All  the  aid  that  man  could  render,  or  the  comfort  that 
religion 
Could    give    to    soothe    the    sufferer,    were   freely 
brought  him  here  ; 
And  he  gave  his  hoarded  savings,  and  the  beads  that 
he  so  cherished, 
To  send  to  his  dear  mother  as  his  latest  hour  drew 
near. 

Saying,  as  he  gave  the  guerdon  of  his  hours  of  weary 
toiling — 
*  To  those  who  served  me  you   will  pay   their  just 
and  honest  due, 
And  send  the  rest  to  mother,  with  the  Rosary  she  gave 
me, 
And  tell  her  that   her  Philip  to  his  latest  hour  was 
true.' 

,Not  one  of  those  who   watched  him  would  touch  the 
poor  boy's  money, 
But  freely  from  their  earnings   an  added  mite  they 
gave. 
That  your  fading  years  might  never   want  raiment, 
food,  or  shelter, 
But  the  love  with   which  he  loved  you  still  reach 
you  from  the  grave." 

When  he  ceased  the  widow  softly  said  :  "  God  bless 
them  for  their  kindness  ! 
Their  pity  for  the  stranger  will  meet  reward  above; 
Take  the  gold  they  send  me,  father,  for  the  hungry 
and  the  needy, 
And  bid  them  pray   for  Philip,  as  they  share   his 
meed  of  love. 


406  PHILIP'S  MOTHER. 

I  will  not  grieve  for  Philip,  I  go  so  soon  to  meet  him 
In  the  home  of  love  and  mercy  I  pray  that  he  has 
won  "; 
Then  in  sweet   Irish   accents  she  murmured  o'er  the 
Aves 
On  the  beads  that  lay  so  lately  on  the  heart  of  her 
dead  son. 

And  when   bells  for  Vespers  sounded  in   far-off  city 
steeples 
The  passing  Angel  summoned  the  sad  soul  to  its  rest^ 
And  friends  laid  her  down  to  slumber  where  her  kin- 
dred waited  for  her, 
With  the  Rosary  she  treasured  clasped  close  upon 
her  breast. 


THE  ROSE. 

A    LEGEND    OF    HILDESHEIM. 


IN  Hildesheim's  old  forest 
When  morn  was  dawning  gray, 
With  nodding  plumes  and  pennons  fair, 
There  met  a  proud  array. 

With  waving  plumes  and  pennons  fair, 

And  bugle  notes  so  free, 
Knights  thronged  around  their  emperor, 

'Mid  martial  minstrelsy. 

For  Ludwig,  the  great  monarch, 
While  summer  hours  were  fair. 

Had  summoned  all  his  noble  lords 
The  forest's  sports  tQ  share. 

Each  hill  and  valley  sent  its  chief. 

And  every  tower  and  town. 
Within  those  wild  and  lonely  haunts 

To  hunt  the  swift  deer  down. 

But  first,  before  the  grand  train  swept 

From  out  the  trysting-place. 
Each  Imnter  knelt  to  beg  of  God 

His  blessing  on  the  chase  : 

407 


408  THE  ROSE, 


For  fair  within  that  opening  glade 

An  altar  had  been  raised, 
Upon  it,  in  tlie  morning's  light. 

The  tapers  flaslied  and  blazed  ; 

And  emperor  and  knight  and  squire 

In  lowliest  reverence  bent 
When  the  good  chaplain's  hand  unveiled 

The  Holy  Sacrament. 

The  wild  flowers  swung  their  censers  round, 
The  great  trees  bowed  o'erhead, 

And  glad  birds  lent  their  symphonies 
The  while  tlie  Mass  was  said. 

The  sacred  words  of  prayer  and  praise 

Died  out  upon  the  air, 
And,  rising  from  the  flowery  sod, 

All  left  the  trysting  fair. 

That  day  the  forest's  arches  heard 

The  bugle's  ringing  sounds. 
The  trampling  of  the  rushing  steeds, 

The  bay  of  questing  hounds. 

In  broidered  robes  of  velvet  bright 

The  royal  hunters  rode  ; 
On  jewelled  hilts  and  breastplates'  sheen 

The  sun's  warm  glances  glowed. 

For  all  of  wealth,  or  power,  or  pride 

That  circle  round  a  throne, 
With  their  rich  splendor  glorified 

The  scenes  but  late  so  lone, 


THE  ROSE. 


409 


Till  evening's  shadows  lengthened  far  ; 

Then  homeward  all  they  drew, 
Where  Elze's  regal  castle  towers 

Rose  in  the  twilight  blue. 

And  music,  mirtl),  and  dance  met  there 
To  crown  the  hours  with  glee, 

Till  rest  and  silence  flung  their  spells 
Across  the  land  and  sea. 

But  Elze's  castle  woke  in  fear 

When  morning  lit  the  sky; 
Low  murmurs  tremulous  with  pain, 

Then  swelling  loud  and  high. 

For  at  the  trysting  yester-morn, 

By  oversight  most  blind, 
The  vessel  with  the  Sacred  Host, 

Alas  !  was  left  behind  : 

The  vessel  with  the  Sacred  Host 

Left  at  the  trysting-place. 
What  time  the  emperor  and  his  train 

Swept  outward  to  the  chase. 

Chill  fear  lay  heavy  on  each  heart 

And  palsied  every  vein, 
Lest  sacrilegious  hands  would  dare 

Christ's  Body  to  profane. 

Then  rose  the  cry  :  "  To  horse,  to  horse, 
Chaplain,  and  knight,  and  squire," 

And  as  they  rode  the  flying  hoofs 
Scarce  sped  with  their  desire. 


4IO 


THE  ROSE. 


The  spot  was  reached  ;  the  morning  sun 
Shone  bright  o'er  hill  and  wold, 

But  poured  its  fullest  glory  round 
Tlie  jewelled  cup  of  gold — 

The  jewelled  cup  wherein  reposed 

The  Body  of  our  Lord, 
Standing  where  pearly  dewdrops  gemmed 

The  velvet  emerald  sward. 

While  o'er  it  with  protecting  arms 

A  lovely  rose-tree  spread ; 
Though  born  within  the  summer  night, 

Its  fragrant  blossoms  shed 

Their  wealth  of  incense  on  the  air. 

Men  marvelled  as  they  gazed 
Upon  the  arch  of  floral  light 

O'er  the  ciborium  raised. 

For  yester-morn  nor  branch  nor  flower 

Upon  the  spot  was  seen, 
Where  now  its  brilliant  blossoms  hung 

On  boughs  of  tenderest  green. 

All  knelt  in  humblest  reverence 

Around  their  treasure  there, 
'Mid  silence  in  itself  as  sweet 

And  thrilling  as  a  prayer  ; 

Till,  swelling  upward  glad  and  high, 

A  hymn  of  thanks  arose  ; 
From  hearts  o'erflowed  with  joy  it  rang 

Across  the  morn's  repose. 


THE  ROSE. 


411 


While  yet  its  accents  heavenward  soared, 

Ludwig  the  Pious  came 
And  knelt  with  those  who  humbly  sang 

Thanksgiving  to  God's  name. 

They  told  the  emperor  the  tale, 
They  showed  the  rose-tree  fair, 

Whose  wondrous  blossoms  poured  their  wealth 
Of  fragrance  on  the  air. 

Then  Ludwig  gave  his  order  high  : 

"Here  shall  a  chapel  stand, 
In  memory  of  this  marvel  wrought 

By  the  Almighty's  hand." 

Years  passed  ;    the  forest  arches  old  . 

Before  the  axe  went  down  ; 
The  wilderness,  in  time,  became 

A  proud  cathedral  town. 

Where  Ludwig's  chapel  first  was  reared 

A  mighty  fane  arose. 
But,  trained  upon  its  carven  side. 

Still  bloomed  the  wondrous  rose. 

And  still  it  blooms  in  beauty  rare, 

Though  centuries  have  shed 
Their  winter  frosts  and  summer  smiles 

Around  its  fragrant  head. 

Still  'neath  the  Altar  doth  its  root 

Strike  deep  into  the  earth  ; 
The  sanctuary  has  been  its  home 

Since  its  glad  liour  of  birtli. 


412  THE  ROSE, 


O  blessed  boon  !  for  aye  to  dwell 
In  peace  anear  God's  Throne, 

To  hear  the  songs  by  angels  sung 
When  midnight's  hours  are  lone. 

Then  round  the  Tabernacle's  walls 
Their  heavenly  accents  ring, 

Commingling  with  their  golden  harps 
Hosannas  to  the  King. 


("The  oldest  known  rose-tree  in  the  world  is  one  at  present  growing  against 
the  wall  of  the  cathedral  of  this  town  [Hildesheim],  remarkable  alike  for  its 
extreme  age  and  the  scanty  nourishment  with  which  it  has  supported  itself 
for  so  many  centuries.  Tradition  states  that  in  the  year  of  grace  814  the 
Emperor  Ludwig  the  Pious,  son  of  Charlemagne,  was  staying  with  his  court 
at  Elze.  Being  desirous  of  hunting  in  the  great  forest  where  now  stands  Hil- 
desheim, Mass  was  said  by  the  imperial  chaplain  at  the  place  of  rendezvous. 
By  some  mishap,  when  the  service  was  concluded,  the  vessel  containing  the 
Sacred  Elements  was  left  behind.  On  returning  to  the  spot  the  next  day 
great  was  the  surprise  of  the  chaplain  to  find  the  sacred  vessel  overshadowed 
by  the  tender  branches  of  a  lovely  rose  which  had  sprung  up  during  the  night, 
and  now  filled  the  air  with  the  perfume  of  its  flowers.  The  emperor  shortly 
after  arrived,  and  by  his  command  a  chapel  was  built,  with  the  altar  standing 
on  the  spot  occupied  by  the  roots  of  the  rose — that  very  rose  which  is  now 
blooming  as  freshly  as  though  a  single  decade  and  not  a  thousand  years  had 
passed  over  its  head.  So  far  tradition.  Certain  it  is  that  the  roots  of  the 
rose-tree  are  buried  under  the  altar  of  the  cathedral,  and  consequently  are 
inside  the  building,  the  stem  being  carried  through  the  wall  to  the  outer  air 
by  a  perforation  made  expressly  for  that  purpose.  The  plant  is  held  in  the 
highest  veneration  by  the  inhabitants,  and  no  one  is  permitted  to  gather  its 
flowers  or  break  its  branches." — Herr  Lennis.) 


LEGEND  OF  SAN  GABRIEL, 

("San  Gabriel,  in  the  year  1776,  witnessed  an  extraordinary  event.  To 
avenge  an  outrage  committed  by  a  soldier  the  Indians  rose  and  came  in  great 
numbers  to  destroj'  the  Mission.  The  Fathers  alone,  but  in  their  sacred  vest- 
ments, met  the  throng  of  enraged  warriors,  and  at  an  opportune  moment  held 
up  before  them  a  shining  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin.  As  if  by  a  miracle  the 
fierce  hearts  were  subdued  at  once  ;  they  knelt  and  cried,  and  embraced  the 
Fathers,  with  whom  they  ever  after  dwelt  on  terms  of  the  closest  friendship." 
—B.  H.) 


WHERE  the  south  in  fadeless  beauty 
Smiles  unceasing  priiise  to  God, 
Fair  as  when  its  billowy  verdure 
First  by  mortal  feet  was  trod ; 
Amid  scenes  our  Father  fashioned 

Into  beauty's  perfect  mould, 
Gemming  them  witli  troi)ic  splendor. 
Stands  the  Mission  gray  and  old. 

Many  years  of  change  have  written 

Records  in  the  book  of  age 
Since  its  walls  gave  back  an  echo 

To  the  Indians'  yells  of  rage 
When  the  chiefs  of  hill  and  valley 

Their  rude  warriors  hither  brought 
To  avenge  a  guilty  outrage 

By  a  Spanish  soldier  wrought. 

On  the  dwellers  in  the  Mission 

Fell  a  chilling  pall  of  fear 
As  the  angry  foe  closed  round  them  : 

Mortal  aid  nor  help  was  near. 


414  LEGEND   OF  SAN  GABRIEL. 

For  the  few  but  brave  defenders 
Of  that  outpost  dared  not  hope 

With  success  against  the  myriads 
Of  their  enemy  to  cope. 

To  the  mighty  God  of  battle 

Rose  their  pleading  in  that  hour, 
On  his  aid  alone  relying 

To  escape  the  savage  power 
Of  the  Indians  who  were  nearing, 

Shouting  loud  their  demon  cry, 
Gloating  in  their  hearts  already 

O'er  the  victims  doomed  to  die  ; 

Challenging  tlieir  foes  to  conflict — 

When  a  vision  met  their  sight  : 
Not  of  arm^d  men  whose  weapons 

Glittered  in  the  sun's  clear  light, 
But  in  albs  of  snowy  whiteness, 

Gleaming  chasuble  and  stole — 
Robes  which  well  befit  God's  altar 

When  the  organ's  anthems  roll — 

Came  the  Fathers  of  the  Mission, 

Calm  as  though  they  trod  the  while 
'Mid  their  people  kneeling  round  them 

In  the  chapel's  crowded  aisle  ; 
In  their  hands  no  warlike  weapons, 

Drum  nor  bugle  cheered  their  way, 
O'er  their  heads  no  flaunting  banners 

With  the  breezes  danced  at  play. 

But  they  bore  a  shining  image 
Of  the  Virgin  pure  and  fair; 

She  it  was  who  gave  their  spirits 
Courage  thus  the  foe  to  dare. 


LEGEND  OF  SAN  GABRIEL.  415 


Loudly  rang  the  scornful  laughter 
Of  the  Indians  as  they  gazed 

On   the  soldiers  of  the  Saviour; 

Then  their  weapons  all  were  raised, 

And,  as  nearer  drew  the  Fathers, 

Every  trusty  bow  was  bent ; 
But  before  the  barbed  arrow 

Speeding  to  its  goal  was  sent, 
Fell  the  hands  so  late  uplifted. 

Weapons  all  to  earth  were  flung, 
And  one  cry  of  awe  and  wonder 

From  the  savage  concourse  rung. 

For  the  glory  of  the  sunshine, 

Cent'ring  in  a  column   bright, 
O'er  the  image  of  the  Virgin 

Poured  a  flood  of  living  light, 
Till  it  seemed  to  glow  and  quicken 

With  tiie  throbbing  pulse  of  life, 
While  from  out  the  foemen's  spirits 

Fled  each  thought  of  blood  and  strife. 

And  they  gazed,  and  gazed  in   wonder, 

As  with   hastening  steps  they  trod. 
Offering  their  hearts'  glad  homage 

To  the  ministers  of  God. 
And  the  friendship  which  they-pliglited, 

At  Our  Lady's  feet  that  day 
They  have  kept  with  faith  unswerving 

As  the  long  years  rolled  away. 


THE  HAPPIEST  CHRISTMAS. 


WE  dwelt  in  the  forest,  wild  and  free, 
Wliere  the  great  Columbia  rushing  pours 
Its  waters  down  betwixt  wooded  shores, 
To  blend  with  tlie  waves  of  the  moaning  sea. 

Of  rough-hewn  logs  was  our  cabin  rude, 
But,  oh  !  it  was  warm  and  bright  within, 
And  sheltered  us  safe  from  the  tempest's  din 

When  it  rang  through  that  dismal  solitude. 

And  we  were  happy,  Lucile  and  I, 

And  our  merry  children,  one  and  all — 
Jean  and  Marie,  Antoine  and  Paul — 

As  the  busy  moments  went  flitting  by. 

But  the  heart  of  each  was  centred  and  tied 
In  the  smiles  of  the  baby,  the  \o\t6. petite^ 
The  blue-eyed,  golden-haired  Marguerite, 

The  child  we  cherished  with  tender  pride. 

For  the  others  were  rosy  and  strong  and  tall  ; 

With  dusky  tresses  and  eyes  of  night; 

While  Marguerite  was  a  ray  of  light. 
Winsome  and  gentle,  frail  and  small. 

But  there  was  one  shadow  that  would  intrude  ; 
A  bitter  grief  bore  my  wife  and  I  : 
There  no  cross-crowned  spire,  lifted  high, 

Blessings  to  earth  and  its  people  wooed. 
416 


THE  HAPPIEST  CHRISTMAS.  417 

No  priest  of  God  in  that  lonely  wild 

Lifted  his  consecrated  hand  ; 

And  we  mourned,  for  two  of  our  little  band 
Were  still  by  original  sin  defiled. 

On  their  baby  brows  was  no  seal  impressed, 
Marking  them  heirs  of  God's  home  above, 
And  the  waters  of  Baptism's  fount  of  love 

Had  not  quickened  the  faith  in  each  infant  breast. 

But  we  taught  them  their  prayers,  and  how  to  sing 
The  beautiful  hymns  to  the  sweet  Christ-Child, 
And  the  Aves  sweet  of  the  Mother  mild 

Blent,  too,  with  the  praise  of  the  Saviour-King. 

And  as  oft  as  the  Chrislmastide  drew  near. 
In  the  fair  home-chamber  of  the  house 
We  fashioned  a  Crib  of  the  cedar-boughs — 

Tlie  Crib  to  the  pure  heart  of  childhood  dear. 

And  they  gathered  around  it  to  hear  again 
The  story  so  often  told  to  them 
Of  the  birth  of  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem, 

And  join  in  his  praises  loud  and  clear. 

How  1  loved  to  kneel  with  my  children  there  ! 
For  the  blessed  picture  called  me  home 
To  where  the  Saint  Lawrence'  waters  foam, 

To  my  father's  house  and  my  father's  prayer.  , 

Oh  !  you  who  have  dwelt  your  whole  life  long 
Under  the  sheltering  arms  of  the  Cross 
Know  naught  of  the  wearying  sense  of  loss 

Filling  the  heart'^wliere  Faith  is  strong  ; 


41  8  THE  HAPPIEST  CHRISTMAS. 


The  longing,  when  sickness  and  death  draw  near, 
And  the  limbs  are  bound  with  pain's  cruel  band, 
For  the  touch  of  tlie  priest's  anointed  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  his  voice  to  banish  fear. 

It  was  Christmas  eve,  and  the  tapers  shone 
Round  the  humble  Crib  and  the  faces  there ; 
Outside  of  our  dwelling  the  icy  air 

Wailed  and  cried  with  a  pitiful  moan. 

But  we  clustered  beside  the  blazing  hearth, 
Where  the  dogs  who  served  me  nobly  and  well 
In  the  dangerous  chase  by  flood  and  fell, 

Slept  on  in  spite  of  the  children's  mirth, 

Who  sang  together  the  carols  sweet — 
The  dear  French  carols  of  long  ago — 
While  Jean  played  tiie  violin  gently,  low. 

Smiling  into  the  blue  eyes  of  Marguerite. 

Then  came  a  pause,  for  warily  slow 

The  hounds  arose  and  gazed  to  the  north"; 
I  opened  the  door,  and  they  bounded  forth, 

Silent  but  eager,  into  the  snow. 

I  followed  with  Jean,  who's  a  hunter  born  ; 
He,  pointing  away  o'er  the  solitude, 
Said  :  "  It  is  some  one  lost  in  the  wood. 

List!  That  is  the  voyageur  Andre's  horn," 

Then,  seizing  my  bugle,  I  blew  a  blast ; 
Loud  and  shrill  through  the  night  it  rang, 
And  soon  the  voyageur's  answer  sang 

A  joyous  peal  over  dangers  past. 


THE  HAPPIEST  CHRISTMAS. 


419 


We  lifted  a  blazing  torch  on  bigli, 

And  out  of  the  forest,  lo  !  there  came, 
Straight  to  that  glittering  point  of  flame, 

My  old  friend  Andre  with  cheery  cry, 

Marshalling  a  weary  and  wayworn  band, 
Whose  furry  garments,  frosted  white, 
Made  them  seem  like  phantoms  of  the  night 

Marching  down  through  the  shadowy  land. 

Within  on  the  hearth  the  fire  blazed  clear, 
And  already,  witli  eager  haste,  Lucile 
Was  making  ready  a  welcoming  meal, 

As  she  heard  of  the  wanderers  drawing  near. 

A  clasp  of  the  hand,  a  murmured  word, 
And  I  turned  from  Andr6  to  greet  the  rest. 
When,  behold  !  in  their  midst  stood  an  honored 
guest, 

The  sound  of  whose  voice  all  my  being  stirred. 

The  voice  was  the  voice  of  a  priest  of  God, 

Saying  :  "  Peace  and  joy  to  your  home  to-night,! 
God's  blessing,  my  son,  on  your  heart  alight]!  " 

My  soul  bloomed  with  pleasure,  like  Aaron's  rod. 

And  I  knelt  at  his  feet  and  sobbed  aloud. 

Crying :  "  Welcome,  most  welcome  !  "  o'er  and^o'er, 
"  Man  of  God,  to  this  desolate  shore." 

And  one  and  all  for  his  blessing  bowed. 

Then  Andr^  spoke  :  "  To  the  fort  in  the  west 
We  were  journeying  down  when  I  thought  of^'you 

here. 
And  hastened  to  bring  you  the  comforting  cheer 

Of  seeing  your  children  made  Christians  blest." 


420  THE  HAPPIEST  CHRISTMAS. 

And,  lifting  my  golden-haired  babe  to  his  knee, 
'*  I  thought  of  thee  most,  my  pet,  my  sweet — 
I  thought  of  thee  most,  my  Marguerite, 

For  the  dear  Child-Jesus  is  waiting  for  thee." 

The  good  priest  smiled  as  he  heard  him  speak, 
And  questioned  the  children,  one  and  all — 
Jean  and  Marie,  Antoine  and  Paul — 

And  patted  the  baby's  dimpled  cheek. 

When  Christmas  morning  rose  in  the  east 

The  candles  were  lighted,  the  white  cloth  spread, 
And  o'er  heart  and  home  were  the  blessings  shed 

That  flow  from  the  Eucharistic  feast  ! 

And  tlien  o'er  my  children's  brows  were  poured 
The  saving  waters  that  wash  away 
The  stain  of  original  sin's  foul  sway, 

And  they  were  made  heirs  of  Christ  our  Lord. 

O  Christmas  Day,  so  bright,  so  blest  ! 
Yours  was  the  only,  the  perfect  joy, 
That  knew  no  trace  of  the  earth's  alloy, 

For  you  brought  to  our  spirits  peace  and  rest; 

And  glancing  back  o'er  the  years  that  have  flown, 
With  sun  or  shadow,  smiles  or  regret. 
We  count  your  morning  the  happiest  yet 

Of  all  the  Christmas  days  we  have  known. 

"And  what  of  Marguerite  ?"     Child  of  grace, 
Her  voice  islieard  'mid  the  angels  now  ; 
Tiie  light  of  heaven  illumes  her  brow  : 

Ah  !  she  sleeps  in  the  graveyard  at  Saint  Ignace. 


THE  HA  UNTED  DELL. 

A    CALIFORNIAN    LEGEND. 


YOU  marvel  at  the  beauty  rare 
By  Nature  lavished  everywhere 

Within  this  quiet  dell. 
But  marvel  not,  for  it  is  true 
That,  hidden  here  from  mortal  view, 

The  mountain  fairies  dwell. 
Guarding  from  sacrilegious  hand 
This  pathway  of  enchanted  land 

With  magic's  wondrous  dower  ; 
And  here,  from  eve  till  dawning  gray, 
On  all  who  pass  this  lonely  way 

Tiiey  fling  tlieir  spell  of  power. 
For  them  athwart  the  leafy  glooms 
The  ^sculus  uplifts  its  plumes 

Tinted  like  Alpine  snow  ; 
For    them  along  the  rough  hill-side 
The  branching  ferns  spread  rank  and  wide 

To  hide  their  caves  below. 
Many  have  felt  a  spell  of  fear 
Fall  on  their  hearts  while  wandering  here 

While  twilight's  shadows  lay 

In  purple  lines  of  light  and  shade, 

Through   which  the  first  faint  starlight  played 

Down  on  the  haunted  way  ; 
421 


42  2  THE  HAUNTED  DELL. 

Have  felt  their  life-blood  quivering   dart 
In   icy  terror  to  their  heart, 

Yet  saw  no  cause  of  dread, 
And  heard  no  sound,  save  when  the  breeze 
Waked  the  weird  music  of  the  trees 

That  crown  the  mountain's  head  ; 
Or  'mid  the  fern-leaves  clustering  dark 
Have  seen  the  glow-worm's  trembling  spark. 

But  never  dreamt  that  there 
The  fairies  of  the  haunted   way- 
Held  them  as  victims  to  their  sway, 

Close  bound  in  gyves  of  air. 

'Tis  many  a  year  since  first  I  trod 
The  flowery  beauty  of  this  sod, 

And  then  a  youth  I  came, 
With  life's  first  ardor  in  my  breast, 
To  dwell  within  the  glorious  West, 

The  savage  foe  to  tame. 
My  childhood,  passed  beyond  the  main 
Amid  the  sunny  scenes  of  Spain, 

Gleams  bright    in  memory  still  ; 
Where  conquest  crowned  her  arms  of  yore, 
At  springs  of  legendary  lore 

My  spirit  quaffed  its  fill. 
I  wandered  'mid  Granada's  towers, 
Trod  through  the  lone  Alhambra's  bowers. 

And  listened  to  the  fall 
Of  fountains  plashing  sweet  and  clear 
In  waves  of  music  on  the  ear 

Within  its  haunted  hall; 
Or  from  its  latticed  windows  high 
Looked  forth  upon    the  midnight  sky, 

Yet  never  felt  the  spell 


THE  HAUNTED  DELL. 


423 


Of  such  wild  terror  in  my  soul 
As  held  me  in  its  weird  control 

One  night  within  this  dell — 
The  midnight  of  a  glorious  day, 
When  I  had  wandered  far  away 

In  quest  of  sylvan  game, 
Unnoting  still  how  far  I  strayed, 
By  hill   and  stream  and   flowery  glade, 

Till  evening's  shadows  came  ; 
And  then  yon  mountain's  rugged  dome 
Uprose  betwixt  me  and  my  home, 

While  far  to  westward  lay 
The  fertile  plain,  whose  bounding  streams 
Glanced  in  the  sun's  expiring  beams 

Upon  their  seaward  way. 
Then  slowly  back  my  course   I  drew 
This  wild  and  wondrous  pathway  through  ; 

And,  loosening  in  its  sheath 
My  trusty  weapon,  lest  the  shade 
Might   hide  some   Indian  ambuscade, 

Rode  on  wiih   bated  breath, 
While  through  the  azure  arch  o'erhead, 
With   presence  calm,  and  stately  tread, 

Night  passed  upon  her  way  ; 
Her  raven  tresses  braided  fair 
With  clustered  stars  of  lustre  rare, 

Whose  brightly  glowing  ray 
Half-lit  the  mantling  robes  of  gloom 
That  veiled  the  beauty  and  the  bloom 

Which  lay  on  either   side. 
And  then  in  robes  of  silver  light, 
Twin-sister  of  the  lovely  Night, 

Came  Luna  like  a  bride  ; 


424  THE  HAUNTED  DELL. 

Her  smile  of  rapturous  radiance  fell, 
Illuminating  all  the  dell, 

Till  every  tiny  flower 
Nestled  amid  the  fern-leaves  green 
Flashed,  jewelled  by  the  dewdrops'  sheen, 

Beneath  its  wondrous  power. 

Onward  I  rode.     My  heart  kept  time 
To  a  strange,  mystic  Spanish  rhyme, 

A  tale  of  days  of  old 
When  Moorish  chief  and  Christian   knight, 
For  God,   for  country,  and  for  right. 

Wrought  deeds  of  daring  bold. 
It  was  a  tale  of  love  and  fear, 
Of  Moorish  hate  and  vengeance  drear — 

A  tale  of  wizard  charms 
That  checked  in  mid-career  the  steed 
When  gallant  knights  were  most  in  need, 

And  palsied  valiant  arms. 
So  rode  I,  till  by  yonder  oak, 
Now  blighted  as    by  tempest  stroke. 

My  faithful    steed  stood  still  ! 
In  vain  I  strove  with  whip  and  spur 
To  urge  him  on  :  he  would  not  stir. 

Held  by  an  iron  will. 
Moveless  he  stood;  each  nerve  was  strained; 
His  proud  neck  arched  like  charger  reined 

By  some  carved  marble    knight. 
Where  then,  in  summer  green,  yon  tree 
Flung  its  bold  shadow  fair  and  free 

Against  the  moon's  soft  light. 
My  hot  blood,  kindling  into  rage, 
Made  every  moment  seem  an  age ; 

And  then  I  dared  to  say 


THE  HAUNTED  DELL.  425 

Words  of  such  fierce,  impotent  ire 
As  burn  upon  my  brain  in  fire 

E'en  to  this  very  day. 
These  angry  words  re-echoed  round ; 
Each  rock  and  tree  caught  up  the  sound 

With  wild,  discordant  clang, 
Reverberating  wide  and  liigh. 
Went  up  into  the  midniglit  sky, 

While  bursts  of  laughter  rang. 
You  dare  not  say  1  was  not  brave, 
You  dare  not  call  me  coward,  slave, 

Nor  mock  me  that  my  blood 
Rushed  back  in  one  swift,  surging  start 
Of  icy  terror  to  my  heart, 

As  lonely  there  I  stood 
And  heard,  in  such  a  spot  of  earth. 
The  clearly  ringing  strains  of  mirth, 

Or  held  with  firmer  grasp 
My  ready  weapon  hard  and  close, 
And  gazed  around  to  seek  the  foes 

Who  held  me  in   their  grasp. 

But  while  I  gazed  tlie  hill  apart 
Seemed  rent,  and  in  its  opened  heart 

I  saw  a  flashing  tlirone, 
On  which  a  woman,  fair  and  bright 
As  ever  gladdened  mortal  sight, 

In  peerless  beauty  shone. 
Above  her  lofty  brow  was  set 
A  glittering,  golden  coronet, 

Where  gems  of  brilliant  dyes 
Gleamed  forth  in  many  a  sparkling  ray; 
But  oh !  their  si)lendor  paled  away 

In  presence  of  her  eyes  : 


426  THE  HAUNTED  DELL. 

And  from  beneath  her  regal  crown 
Her  jetty  tresses  floated  down, 

While  jewels  beyond  price 
Clasped  her  rich  mantle's  crimson  fold, 
Which  broidered  shone  with  threads  of  gold 

In  fair  and  quaint  device. 
White  neck  and  arms  were  gleaming  bare, 
Half-shaded  by  her  flowing  liair, 

And  in  her  hand  she  held 
A  sceptre  ;  but  upon  it  shone 
Nor  glittering  gold  nor  precious  stone  : 

It  seemed  a  rod  of  eld — 
Such  rods  are  wizards  wont  to  wave 
At  midnight  in  some  haunted  cave, 

Whene'er  they  seek   to  wrest, 
By  magic's  supernatural  art, 
The  secrets  of  the  human   heart 

From  some  foul  demon's  breast. 
On  either  side  their  sovereign's  throne 
Stood  maidens  seven,  whose  broidered  zone 

Bright-gleaming  emblems  bore; 
There  shone  the  zodiac's  mystic  signs, 
Blending  with  purple-clustered  vines 

And  birds  of  sea  and  shore. 
Fair  flowed  their  robes  of  snowy  white, 
Bright  shone  their  eyes  in  lustrous  light, 

And  oh  !    they  sweetly  sang, 
As  mingling  with  their  flowing  rhyme. 
In  music's  most  exquisite  time, 

Their  silvery  harp-strings  rang; 
Re-echoed  through  the  long  arcades 
Of  pillared  halls  whose  colonnades 

Sent  back   an  answer  clear, 


THE  HAUNTED  DELL. 


427 


And  softly  came  the  laughing  fall 
Of  fountains  whose  low  babbling  call 

Rose  in  the  gardens  near. 
And,  save  the  sound  of  harp  and  song, 
Which  'wildering  echoes  did  prolong, 

All,  all  was  silence  there  ; 
Tlie  myriad  courtiers  thronging  round 
Seemed  held  in  silent  awe  profound 

Before  their  Empress  fair. 
It  was   a  scene  so   bright,   so  strange, 
So  far  surpassing  fancy's  range, 

It  seemed  to  mock  at  death  ; 
Around  the  hall  fair  faces  shone, 
And  on  each  passing  breeze  was  blown 

The  rarest  perfume's  breath. 
And  I  stood  there  as  mute  and  still 
As  the  grey  rocks  on  yonder  hill, 

Till  in  my   bosom  sprang 
A  longing  wish   to  fling  me  down 
Before  the  wearer  of  the  crown, 

Charmed  by  the  songs  they  sang. 
But   mingling  with  that  longing  came 
A  shuddering  terror  through  my  frame  ; 

Ah  !    now  I  know,   indeed, 
*Twas  my  good  angel  then  who  strove 
To  win  me  back  to  life  and  love, 

And  save  me  in  my  need. 
My  better  nature   sought  control 
Of  the  mad  feelings  of  my  soul, 

And  stilled  my  throbbing  heart; 
Then,  as  in  agony  I  pressed 
My  right   hand  close  against  my  breast, 
I  felt  with  sudden  start 


428 


THE  HAUNTED  DELL. 


A  tiny  Cross  my  mother  gave 
(She  sleepeth   now  within  her  grave 

Beyond   the   rolling  sea) ; 
She  bade  me  wear  it  near  my   lieart, 
And,  as  I  loved  her,   ne'er  to  part 

With  it  while  life  sliould  be. 
And  she  had  bade  me   daily  pray 
That  God  would  guard  and  guide  my  way, 

And  keep  my  soul  from  stain ; 
But  reckless  I  of  heavenly  care, 
Had  seldom  thought  of  daily  prayer 

Since  I  had  left  old  Spain. 
But  now  within  this  lonely  dell. 
When  struggling  'gainst  the  tempter's  spell 

That  held  me  in  its  thrall, 
Crying  :  *'  Haste,  haste  I  allegiance  own 
Before  our  radiant  Sovereign's  throne  : 

0  hearken  to  our   call  !  " 

How   writ  in  words  of  burning  flame, 
Back  on  my  clouded  vision  came 

The  .prayers  I  said  in  youth. 
When  kneeling  at  my  mother's  knee, 
In   the  old  home  beyond  the    sea, 

1  loved  the  Lord  of  Truth. 
Now  in  what  agony  I  cried 

To  him  to  pardon  me  my  pride, 

And  save  my  soul  from  loss ; 
The  while  with  eager  haste  I  drew 
This  precious  treasure  forth  to  view, 

Man's  sign  of  hope,  the  Cross. 
But  scarcely  had  the  words  of  prayer 
Died  quivering  on  the  midnight  air, 

When  lo  !    the  vision   fled. 


THE  HAUNTED  DELL. 


429 


The  glowing  scene  of  love  and  light, 
The  fairy  halls  in  splendor  bright, 

Back  into  darkness  sped  ; 
And  starting  with  a  sudden  bound 
My  good  steed  left  the  enchanted  ground. 

Forward  !    away  !    away  ! 
O'er  rock  and  brake  his  Jioof-beats  rang, 
As  down  the  mountain  path  he  sprang 

To  meet  the  coming  day  ; 
While  from  my  spirit's  every  chord 
Rose  mute  thanksgiving  to  the  Lord, 

Who  led  my  straying  soul 
Back  from   temptation's  luring  snare, 
Back  to  the  kind  and  loving  care 

Of  Truth's  supreme  control. 


THE  POOR  MAN'S    TREASURES. 


MY  life,  I  know,  is  one  of  toil 
And  hardship  day  by  day, 
But  when  the  evening  shadows  fall 
My  cares  flee  far  away  ; 

For  as  the  first,  faint  silvery  star 
Shines  in  the  azure  dome, 

I  clasp  the  little  ones  who  throng 
To  bid  me  "Welcome  Home." 

Far  down  within  the  shadowy  glen 
My  humble  cottage  stands, 

Its  rough-hewn  sides  and  lowly  roof 
The  labor  of  my  hands. 

But  vines  that  loving  fingers  train 
Around  its  casements  cling. 

And  swallows  build  beneath  its  eaves 
And  round  it  linnets  sing — 

And  round  it  linnets  sing  at  morn 
Their  sweetest  matin  song, 

But  sweeter  far  the  ringing  tones 
That  to  my  babes  belong. 

They  are  the  bugle-notes  that  urge 

My  heart  to  daily  toil ; 
For  them  I  rend  the  stubborn  oak 

Or  glean  the  river's  spoil. 
430 


THE  POOR  MAN'S   TREASURES.  431 


For  them  in  winter's  chilly  hours 

My  narrow  fields  I  sow, 
For  them  I  reap  the  harvests  sent 

In  summer's  sultry  glow. 

How  often  when  with  aching  arms 

The  gleaming  axe  I  wield, 
When  hopes  are  few,  and,  coward-like, 

I  fear  that  I  must  yield, 

With  laughter  rippling  from  their  lips, 

Light-hearted  girls  and  boys, 
Down  through  the  waving  woods  they  come 

My  band  of  household  joys. 

They  sing  to  me  some  simple  strain 

Tlieir  mother  loves  to  sing  ; 
They  share  with  me  their  berries  wild. 

Bring  water  from  the  spring  ; 

And  while  I  list  tlieir  eager  talk 
Of  birds  and  trees  and  flowers, 

I  feel  a  brightness  o'er  me  steal, 
As  sunlight  follows  showers. 

And  when  at  night  we  gather  round 
The  cheerful  household  hearth, 

In  well-earned  rest  my  spirit  tastes 
The  sweetest  peace  of  earth  ; 

When,  with  our  little  ones  around, 

My  gentle  wife  and  I 
Join  in  the  strains  of  praise  we  learned 

Beneath  a  foreign  sky. 


432  THE  POOR  MAN'S   TREASURES. 

For  we  have  reared  a  little  shrine, 

And  there  our  Lady  stands, 
Clasping  unto  her  spotless  breast 

The  Ruler  of  all  lands. 

And,  clustered  round  it,  my  dear  babes 

Carol  in  accents  clear 
The  hymns  of  Faith,  and  Hope,  and  Love 

To  Christian  hearts  so  dear. 

I  almost  fancy  our  sweet  Lord 
Looks  down  with  tenderer  glance, 

Where  lighting  up  each  childish  face 
The  flickering  tapers  dance  ; 

As  though  He  smiled  approvingly 

Upon  their  simple  prayer. 
And  our  dear  Mother  seems  to  claim 

Each  as  her  special  care. 

And  oh !   I  pray  her  tender  hand 

Will  lead  them  evermore, 
And  guard  my  treasures  till  they  rest 

Upon  the  heavenly  shore. 


DOLORES. 


THE  beauty  of  the  valley  seemed  to  broaden  and 
to  brighten, 
As  the  morning  sun  came  smiling  o'er  the  hill-tops 
in  the  east, 
And  the  breezes  whispered  softly  to  the  blossoms  nec- 
tar-laden 
Where  the  humming-bird  was  sipping  his  epicurean 
feast. 

At  her  window,  weak  and  weary,  sat  the  pale  Dolores 
waiting ; 
She  had  watched  the  distant  mountains  since  the 
coming  of  the  dawn, 
And  her  fevered  frame  drank  deeply  of  the  ambrosial 
wine  the  goddess 
Offered  as  her  train  went  sweeping  o'er  the  dusky 
woodland  lawn. 

Dolores — ^never  surely  was  name  so  fitly  given, 

For  the  little  maiden  seldom  knew  an  hour  of  per- 
fect rest 
From    the   moment   when    her   father  to   his   aching 
bosom  raised  her, 
Newly  born  and  newly  orphaned,  from  her  mother's 
pulseless  breast, 

433 


434  DOLORES. 


In  vain  had  Tia  Juana  tried  the  simples  of  her  people, 
Each  draught  of  power,  each  lotion,  alike  in  turn 
essayed  ; 
But  the  bent  form  never  straightened,  and  the  limbs, 
as  years  rolled  onward. 
To  the  pain-distorted  body  refused  to  lend    their 
aid. 

She  was  waiting  now  the  summons  to  make  life's  final 
journey, 
For  her  hours   on  earth  were  numbered,  and  the 
sands  were  running  fast. 
Ah  !  she  felt  the  balmy  beauty  of  that  tranquil  Sun- 
day morning, 
And  that  glorious  summer  sunrise  on  earth  would 
be  her  last. 

Never  had  the  vale  seemed  fairer,  or  the  mountains, 
in  their  grandeur, 
More  like  old  and  trusted  kinsmen,  than  when  gaz- 
ing on  them  now  ; 
While  each  heart-throb  came  pain-laden,  and  the  hand 
of  Death  was  tracing 
In  dewdrops  cold  and  clammy  his   signet  on  her 
brow. 

'Neath  the  giant  oak-trees  yonder  her  nurse  had  often 
borne  her 
When  the  drowsy  air  was  heavy  with  the  fragrance 
of  the  spring. 
Where,  pillowed  'mid  the  grasses,  she  could  hear  the 
bees  low  humming, 
And  the  music  of  the  wild  birds  soaring  up  on  joy- 
ous wing. 


DOLORES.  435 


There,  beside  the  babbling  streamlet,  she  had  listened 
to  the  legends 
Of  Our  Lady's  life  in  Israel;  but  the  tale  she  loved 
the  best 
Was  the  story  of  the  sorrows  of  the  Mater  Dolorosa, 
Whose  dolors  all  her  being's  tender  sympathy  pos- 
sessed. 

From  it  she  learned  the  lesson  to  bear  her  lot  in  pa- 
tience, 
Remembering  that  the  sorrows  of  Our  Lady  far  sur- 
passed, 
In  their  awful  depth  of  anguish,  all  the  trials,  all  the 
sufferings 
Which  upon  the  sons  of  mortals    by  the   Maker's 
hand  are  cast. 

*Twas  the  day  the  Church  has  given  to  the  holy  Queen 
of  Sorrows, 
The  feast-day   of   her  Patroness,  and  eager  hope 
and  fear 
Were  blended  with  the  longing  to  behold  her  Blessed 
Mother, 
Growing  stronger  still  and  stronger  as  the  last  sad 
hour  drew  near. 

Then  along  the  valley,  glowing  in  September's  dreamy 
beauty, 
Pealed  the  Mission  bells'  sweet  greeting,  the  Ave 
hour  of  morn. 
For  fifteen  years  Dolores  had  heard  their  chimes  glad 
sounding, 
Across   the   sunlit   plaza   and    o'er   the   red    roofs 
borne ; 


436  DOLORES. 


Now  they  heralded  the  coming  of  a  Guest  with  untold 

blessings — 
•    The  Lord  of  Hosts,  his  splendor  in  humble  symbols 

veiled, 
Borne  to  the  silent  chamber  where  the  dying  maiden 

waited 
The  coming  of  the  King  whose  love  for  sinful  man 

prevailed. 

He  came,  and  in  his  presence  all  terror  of  death  van- 
ished, 
And,  as  an  infant  sinks  to  sleep  upon  its  mother's 
breast, 
From  ceaseless  pain  and  sorrow,  and  nights  of  sleep- 
less watching, 
Dolores,  sad  no  longer,  went  forth  to  endless  rest. 


ASHES  OF  ROSES, 


I  GAVE  her  a  rose  to  keep, 
And  bade  her  remember  well 
Our  parting  upon   the  steep 
In  sight  of  the  ocean's  swell. 

I  saw  its  red  petals  shine 

'Gainst  the  snow  of  her  dainty  hand, 
And  tears  fall  fast  on  that  gift  of  mine 

As  my  vessel  left  the  land. 

I  sailed  o'er  the  sounding  seas 

Till  a  twelvemonth  had  passed  away, 

And  summer  was  on  the  breeze 

When  once  more  in  that  quiet  bay, 

In  shade  of  the  rocky  steep, 
My  good  sliip  to  anchor  came, 

And  up  to  my  loved  one's  door 
I  hastened  witli   heart  aflame. 

The  earth  seemed  devoid  of  pain. 
The  skies  were  of  cloudless  blue, 

And  I  murmured:   "Again,  again 
I  will  look  on  my  love  so  true." 

I  looked  on  my  loved  one's  face  i 
White  blossoms  were  in  her  hair, 

White  robes  on  her  form  of  grace — 
Oh  !  she  was  a  bride  most  fair. 

437 


438  ASHES  OP  ROSES. 

But  veiled  were  her  glorious  eyes, 
And  hushed  was  her  pulsing  breath : 

Her  spirit  liad  sought  the  skies 

From  the  arms  of  her  bridegroom,   Death, 

They  told  me  through  hope  deferred, 
Through  watching  and  waiting  long, 

Her  faith  in  my  truth  ne'er  swerved, 
Her  trust  in  my  love  was  strong. 

And  when  the  dread  summons  came 
She  left  me  the  rose  to  keep — 

The  rose  o'er  whose  heart  of  flame 
I  had  seen  her  bend  and  weep. 

The  red  rose  is  ashes  now. 

And  close  on  my  breast  they  lie — 

Love's  farewell  pledge  till  we  meet 
In  the  beautiful  land  on  high. 


LAS  LAG  RIM  AS. 


(A  low  group  of  hills  situated  a  short  distance  south  of  San  Jose,  from  the 
summit  of  which  a  band  of  the  earliest  Mexican  settlers  of  the  country,  after 
having  endured  many  dangers  and  privations,  beheld  for  the  first  time  the  in- 
fant colony  of  San  Jose.  Overcome  with  gratitude  for  deliverance  from  so 
many  perils,  and  joy  at  beholding  so  near  their  future  home,  the  emigrant 
exiles  gave  vent  to  their  feelings  in  tears.     Hence  the  name  "  Lagrimas.") 

WORN  pilgrims  from  the  tropic  land 
That  smiles  beside  the  Mexic  sea, 
Allured  by  Hope's  extended  hand, 

They  sought  this  country  wild  and  free  ; 

Came  here  to  dwell  amid  these  vales 
Where  smiling  Plenty  reigned  supreme, 

Where  wild  flowers'  perfumes  filled  the  gales 
That  dallied  by  each  mountain  stream. 

They  left  the  scenes  of  childhood  fair. 
Severing  the  tenderest  ties  of  home. 

And  nerved  their  gallant  hearts  to  dare 
The  toilsome  pathway  they  must  roam. 

They  crossed  tiie  deserts  drear  and  wide, 
The  rivers  rolling  dark  and  deep, 

Tiie  Indians'  savage  power  defied 
In  forest  lone,  on  rocky  steep  ; 

Till,  after  marches  wild  and  drear. 
Through  many  a  peril  by  the  way, 

Standing  upon  the  hill-top  here 
They  saw  thee  first,  O  San  Jos^  ! 

J9*  439 


440  LAS  LAGRIMAS. 


But  bade  no  stirring  shout  resound 
In  notes  of  triumph  wild  and  high ; 

The  silent  echoes  slumbering  round 
Sent  back  no  answer  to  the  sky 

The  joy  that  thrilled  each  gazer's  heart, 
And  pulsed  along  each  throbbing  vein, 

But  caused  the  burning  tears  to  start 
From  every  eye  in  gladsome  rain. 

And  kneeling  humbly  on  this  sod, 

Their  joy  triumphing  over  fear, 
They  gave  thanksgiving  unto  God, 

Who  safely  led  their  footsteps  here. 

A  century  has  almost  passed 

Since  hither  came  that  pilgrim  band, 

And  from  this  spot  their  glances  cast 
Upon  their  glowing  promised  land. 

They  dwelt  in  yonder  city  fair, 

They  trod  the  scenes  that  now  we  tread, 
They  worshipped  in  yon  house  of  prayer, 

And  slumber  calmly  with  our  dead. 

The  swiftly  passing  hours  have  wrought 
Full  many  a  great  and  wondrous  change; 

The  seeds  of  enterprise  they  brought 

Have  flowered  in  beauty  bright  and  strange. 

The  city  spreads  its  mighty  arms. 
And  far,  by  woodland  and  by  hill, 

Gleams  out  the  wealth  of  fruitful  farms 
Where  Labor  reaps  her  garner's  fill. 


LAS  LA  GRIM  AS. 


441 


Homesteads  engirt  by  orchards  fair 
Are  clustered  o'er  the  valley  wide, 

And  gleajning  through  the  crystal  air 
Rise  spire  and  dome  in  stately  pride. 

Another  people  rule  the  land, 
Another  language  fills  the  air; 

The  children  of  that  daring  band 
Are  widely  scattered  everywhere. 

But,  grateful  to  God's  saving  power 
When  pleasure  triumphed  over  fears. 

Still,  still  in  memory  of  that  hour 

They  call  this  spot  the  "Hill  of  Tears." 


THE  BA  TTLE  OF  CLA  VIJO, 

A    LEGEND    OF    SAINT    JAMES    OF    COMPOSTELLA. 


THE  proud  King  of  Cordova,  the  Arab  Abderrah- 
man, 
Gloating  o'er  the  hapless  people  whom  his  power 
had  overtlirown, 
Drunk  with  the  wine  of  victory,  sent  his  envoys  with 
this  message 
To  Ramira,  Christian  monarch  of  the  kingdom  of 
Leon  : 

"  I  demand,  O    king  !  a  tribute,  not  of  shining  gold 
nor  silver, 
Nor  of  gems  whose  wondrous  radiance  lights  the 
hidden  vaults  of  earth, 
But  a  hundred  beauteous  maidens  thou  shalt  yearly 
send  unto  me — 
Maidens  peerless  in  their  beauty,  maidens  noble  in 
their  birth." 

The  [hot  blood  of  Ramira  burned  red  in  cheek  and 
forehead 
As,  rising  from  his  royal  throne,'he  cried :  "Begone, 
and  bear 
To  the  tyrant  Abderraliman  our  hatred  and  defiance, 
Our  scorn  and  hate  undying  ;  and  tell  him  that  we 
dare, 


THE  BATTLE   OF  CLAVIJO.  443 

"  By   the    aid    of    Santiago,    to    keep    our   realm    so 
guarded 
That,  in   spite  of  all  his  armies,  no  foul,  polluting 
hand 
May  bear  Cordova's  ruler  one  of  the  lovely  maidens 
Whose  purity  and  beauty  are  the  treasures  of  our 
land. 

"  Ho,  warders  !  drive  these  envoys  beyond  our  pal- 
ace portals, 
Beyond  our  kingdom's  outposts,  and  be  our  man- 
date known 
To  our  subjects  true    and    loyal    that    they   hasten, 
armed  and  ready, 
To  defend  the  stainless  honor  of  the  daughters  of 
Leon." 

S.ullen  and  dark  and   angry  the  envoys  left  his  pre- 
sence. 
Bearing  to  their  hauglity  monaicli   tlie  defiance  of 
the  king. 
And  soon  the  Arab  legions,  rank  on  rank,  by  thou- 
sands moving, 
Like  the  wind  from  off  the  desert  bearing  ruin  on 
its  wing, 

Across  Leon's  fair  border  brought  death  and  desola- 
tion. 
And  the  Spanish  host,  defeated,  fled  from  Alaveda's 
field. 
O    day  of  woe  and  anguish  !    for,  by  countless  foes 
surrounded, 
It  seemed  that  with  the  morrow  the  Christian  chief 
must  yield. 


444  ^^^  BATTLE   OF  CLAVIJO. 

From  the  height  on  which  he  rested  he  could  see  the 
mighty  army 
Of  the  Moors  rejoicing  proudly  o'er  the  victory  of 
the  day. 
Mortal  power  was  none  to  aid  him ;  all  his  hopes  in 
Heaven  were  centred, 
And  to  Saint  James,  his   patron,  he   humbly  knelt 
to  pray. 

Night  fell;  Ramira,  wearied  with  the  toils  of  battle, 
slumbered 
As  calmly  as  an  infant    pillowed    on   its   mother's 
breast, 
When  lo  !  Spain's  great  apostle,  in  majesty  and  gran- 
deur, 
Came  in  the  dream  whose  glory  crowned  his  noble 
client's  rest. 

"Fear  not,"  he  said,  "  true-hearted — fear  not :  renew 
the  battle, 
For  help  from  Heaven  to-morrow  will  aid  thy  little 
band. 
God  hears  thy  prayers  and  answers ;  his  strong  right 
hand  will  rescue 
From  captivity  and  ruin  the  daughters  of  thy  land.** 

Ramira  rose  rejoicing,  and  summoned   to  his   pres- 
ence 

\    The  prelates  and  the  captains  of  his  army,  one  and 
all, 

Then  told  his  blessed  vision,  and  the  promise  of  his 
patron 
That  no  stain  of  fell  dishonor  on  his  chosen  land 
should  fall. 


THE   BATTLE    OE  CLAVIfO.  445 

Swiftly,  swiftly  sped  the  tidings,  and  the  men,  but  late 
disheartened 
By  defeat  and  threatened   ruin,  with   one  voice  of 
glad  acclaim, 
In   thanksgiving   and    appealing,    bade    the   startled 
echoes  round  them 
Ring  and  thrill  as  heavenward  soaring  floated  Sant- 
iago's name. 

Santiago !    Santiago  !     With  a  sound    of  dread    and 
warning 
To   the   foemen   came   the   war-cry  of  the   valiant 
Spanish  band. 
As,  with  weapons  flashing  brightly  in  the  rosy  glow  of 
morning, 
Down  they  swept  for  God  and  country,  love  of  king 
and  fatherland. 

All  in  vain  the  Arab  leaders  massed  their  forces  to 
resist  them  ; 

On  they  came,  but  one  in  spirit,  one  in  thought  and 
deed  and  aim, 

While  from  lip  to  Hp   went  echoing  the  word    that 
nerved  and  fired   them, 
With   their  latest  breath  repeating  Santiago's  hon- 
ored name. 

And  where'er  the  fight  was  thickest  and  the  danger 
grew  most  pressing, 
There  Saint  James  was  seen  in  grandeur  far  sur- 
passing mortal  knight, 
Mounted  on  a  snowy  charger,  and  the  Spanish  army 
leading- 
With  a  banner  where  tlie  red  cross  shone  upon  a 
field  of  white. 


446  THE  BATTLE   OF  CLAVIJO. 


With  the  golden  light  and  glory  of  the  heavens  shin- 
ing round  him, 
With  a  glance  like   lightning  dealing  death   upon 
the  Arab  foe, 
Rode  Spain's  patron  and  apostle  o'er  Clavijo's  field 
of  battle, 
While  the  gallant  Spaniards  followed,  fired  by  valor's 
deathless  glow. 

Before  that  glorious  vision  the  Moslems  fled  in  terror, 
Leaving  on  the  field   of  carnage  sixty  thousand  of 
their  slain  ; 
While  a  voice  of  rapt  thanksgiving,  of  thanksgiving 
and  rejoicing. 
Rose  and  swelled  from  joyous  spirits  o'er  the  sunny 
hills  of  Spain. 

Then  the  king  and  army,  kneeling,  made   a   solemn 
vow  to  Heaven, 
Yielding  as  an   annual  tribute  unto  Compostella's 
shrine 
In  the  golden  time  of  harvest,  from  each  acre  of  the 
kingdom, 
One  full  measure  each  of  corn    and  the  red  blood 
of  the  vine. 

Thus,  a  grateful  offering  rendering  from  the  land  the 
saint  had  rescued 
From  the  stern  rule  of  the  Moslem,  from  the  cap- 
tive's awful  doom. 
Every  heart  in  Spain  united  in  fond,  filial  devotion 
To  enrich  their  dearest  temple,  blessed  Santiago's 
tomb. 


LITTLE  ELSIE. 


RUDDILY  the  firelight  glowed 
In  the  cottage  by  the  road ; 
Round  the  hearth  the  children  sat, 
Speeding  time  with  song  and   chat — 
Merry  children,  girls  and  boys. 
Long  they  spoke  of  Christmas  joys, 
Wondering  what  gift  would  be 
Hung  for  each  upon  the  tree 
When  good  Santa  Claus  would  come 
With  his  bugle,  fife,   and  drum  : 
Wondrous  dolls  and  fairy-tales, 
Pictures  of  the  sunlit  dales 
Where  they  loved  to  roam  in  spring 
When  the  birds  were  on  the  wing, 
And  the  fragrant  blossoms  sung 
Ballads  in  a  flowery  tongue — 
All  the  bright  and  varied  toys 
Wliich  he  gives  to  girls  and  boys. 

One  by  one  their  wish  they  made 
While  the  firelight  danced  and  played 
Speaking  all  so  loud  and  fast. 
Little  Elsie's  turn  came  last — 
Little   Elsie,  slight  and  fair. 
With  blue  eyes  and  golden  hair — 
And  she  said  :  "  I  long  to  see 
Hung  upon  the  Christmas  tree 


448  LITTLE  ELSIE. 


A  new  robe,  all  fair  and  white, 
Decked  with  blossoms  sweet  and  bright : 
Such  a  robe   as  should  be  worn 
On  the  lovely  Christmas  morn, 
When  the  angelic  choirs  sing 
Welcome  to  the  new-born  King, 
And  the  hearts  of  all  should  glow 
Pure  as  the  untrodden  snow  ; 
Thus  to  welcome  from  the  skies 
Him  who  came  in  infant  guise, 
Him  who  in  his  Sacred  Heart 
Gives  to  youth  the  larger  part." 

Elsie's  mother  sat  and  smiled 

At  the   prattle  of  her  child  ; 

No  foreboding  shadow  fell 

With  its  drear  and  darkening  spell, 

Bidding  waves  of  sorrow  roll 

To  o'erwhelm  her  tranquil  soul. 

But  when  Christmas  morning  glowed 

On  the  cottage  by  the  road, 

Not  a  merry  accent  stirred, 

Not  a  sound  of  joy  was  heard. 

O'er  the  silent,  firelit  room 

Lay  a  heavy  pall  of  gloom : 

Little  Elsie,  robed  in  white, 

Decked  with  blossoms  sweet  and  bright, 

Lay  upon  the  flower-crowned  bier ; 

And  the  children  wondering  near. 

Grieving,  weeping  girls  and  boys, 

Thought  no  more  of  Christmas  joys, 


LITTLE  ELSIE.  449 


For  their  Elsie,  bright   and  fair — 
Elsie  of  the  golden  hair, 
Of  the  voice  of  rippling  song, 
Life   of  all  the  household  throng — 
In    the  midnight's   solemn  hour 
Left  her  home's  love-guarded  bovver, 
Borne  aloft  by   angel  hands 
Where  the  Throne  of  Glory  stands, 
Where   the  joyous  anthems   ring 
In  the  presence  of  the  King, 
Who  beheld  her  pure  heart   glow 
Spotless   as  the  untrodden   snow, 
And,  beholding,  bade  her  haste 
Of  Heaven's  endless  joys  to  taste. 


LITTLE  GASPARUS  DREAM. 


LITTLE  Gaspard,  weak  and  weary, 
Watched  the  morning  hours  advance, 
With  their  gold  and  crimson  touches 

Firing  all  the  hills  of  France, 
Pouring  in  a  flood  of  beauty 
.  Througli   his  window's  latticed  bars, 
Whence  all  night  his  sleepless  glances 

Sought  the  glory  of  the  stars. 
And,  as  broader  still  their  splendor 

Deepened  over  tower  and  fell, 
From  the  gray  old  chapel  belfry 

Loudly  pealed  the  Matin  bell  ; 
Then   he  raised  his  blue  eyes  softly 

To  Our  Lady's  picture  fair, 
While  his  meek  young  soul  was  lifted 

On  the  snowy  wings  of  prayer. 
Day  by  day  he  heard  the  sounding 

Of  the  chapel's  silvery  chimes, 
Whispering  to  his  prisoned  spirit 

Of  Heaven's  fadeless  summer  climes. 
He  had  learned  to  know  and  love  them, 

Joining  in  with  each   refrain — 
With  their  ringing  bursts  of  gladness. 

With  their  tolling  throbs  of  pain. 
They  had  voices  full  of  meaning 

For  the  lonely  orphan  child  ; 
But  he  loved  them  best  when  speaking 

Of  her  praise,  the  Mother  mild. 


LITTLE   CASPAR  US  DREAM.  45  I 


Poor  and  crippled,  born  to  sorrow, 

Gaspard's  life  knew  little  joy ; 
But  the  Mother  of  the  Saviour 

Had  been  mother  to  the  boy. 
Through  the  dreary  years  he  numbered, 

Living  on  his  kinsman's  dole, 
'Twas  her  love  that  filled  and  brightened 

With  its  summer  all  his  soul. 
And  to-day  was  the  Assumption  ; 

Far  along  the  village  street 
He  could  see  the  children  passing, 

Bearing  blossoms  fair  and  sweet — 
Bearing  blossoms  for  the  altar, 

Emblems  meet  of  trust  and  love, 
Eloquent  of  Him  who  giveth 

Bounteous  graces  from  above. 
And  the  tears  flowed  fast  unbidden, 

With  a  longing  deep  and  vain 
For  the  hours  of  strength  and  gladness 

He  would  never  know  again — 
Longings  to  behold  the  altar 

On  his  Mother's  festal  day  ; 
See  her  shrine  all  decked  and  wreathed 

With  the  summer  flow'rets  gay ; 
Hear  the  organ's  sweet  voice  filling 

All  the  place  with  music  sweet. 
Till  the  soul  seemed  lifted  upward, 

Upward  to  the  Saviour's  feet. 
And  at  length,  in  broken  murmurs. 

Did  he  say  :  "  O  Mother  mine  ! 
I  alone  have  naught  to  offer, 

Naught  to  lay  upon  thy  shrine. 


452  LITTLE  GASPARUS  DREAM. 

My  poor  limbs  refuse  to  bear  me 

To  tlie  fields  or  forest  bowers, 
And  I  cannot  crown  thy  image 

E'en  with  simple  wild-wood  flowers," 
And  he  wept  till  o'er  his  ,spirit 

Came  a  sense  of  calmness  deep,  • 
And  his  wearied  soul  was  drifted 

To  the  tranquil  realms  of  sleep. 

Then  in  dreams  our  holy  Mother 

Sought  and  comforted  her  child, 
Leading  him  through  pleasant  valleys 

Where  Spring's  sweetest  blossoms  smiled. 
In  their  midst  a  patient  pilgrim 

Bore  his  cross,  enwreathed  with  flowers 
Such  as  never  sprang  to  being 

In  earth's  fairest  garden  bowers — 
Stainless,  snowy-petalled  lilies 

By  no  earthly  sunbeams  spun, 
Roses  flushed  with  glowing  beauty. 

Born  not  of  the  rain  or  sun. 

Little  Gaspard  questioned  softly  : 
"  Whither  doth  the  pilgrim  go  ? 

And  whence  are  the  wreathed  blossoms, 
Bathed  in  such  heavenly  glow?" 

^'  Child,  that  pilgrim  is  thy  spirit, 
And  thy  sufferings  are  the  cross ; 

And  the  flowers  entwined  around  it 
Show  thy  patience  in  thy  loss. 


LITTLE  GASPARD'S  DREAM. 


453 


They  have  bloomed  amidst  thy  silence, 

'Neath  the  taunting  words  of  scorn ; 
They  have  caught  their  glow  and  fragrance 

From  tliy  pains  for  Jesus  borne." 
"  And  who  walks  beside  the  pilgrim, 

Speaking  words  of  hope  and  cheer?" 
*'  'Tis  thy  guardian  angel,  Gaspard, 

Who  for  ever  hovereth  near. 
He  it  is  who  culls  the  blossoms 

Of  thy  patience,  love,  and  prayer, 
Aids  thee  that  thy  spirit  faint  not 

In  the  darkness  of  despair." 
*'  And  whence  flow  those  shining  rivers. 

Glowing  like  a  golden  crown  1 " 
"  Child,  they  are  the  steady  currents 

Of  God's  graces  flowing  down. 
Strengthened  by  their  fresh'ning  waters, 

Many  a  weary  soul  shall  rise, 
Clasp  its  cross,  and  journey  onward 

In  the  pathway  to  the   skies. 
Courage,   child !     God's  love  and   patience 

With  his  children  knows  no  bound, 
And  *  his  sacred  presence  '  maketh 

All   the  wide  earth   holy  ground. 
Courage  !     In  life's  ceaseless  battle 

Prove   thyself  a  soldier  tried  ; 
Clothe  thee  with  the   proven  armor. 

Love   for  Jesus  Crucified  ; 
Pray   to  him  in   simple   trusting: 

He  will  strengthen   and  befriend, 
And  will  give  thee — priceless  jewel — 

Perseverance  till  the  end." 


454 


LITTLE  GASPARD'S  DREAM. 


Gaspard  waked  ;   the  noontide's  glory 

Held  the  wide  earth  in  its  trance, 
And   the  Angelus  was   pealing 

From   the  thousand   towers  of  France. 
Waked  to  days  of  helpless  suffering, 

Waked   to  nights  devoid   of  rest  ; 
But  his   dream   made  endless  summer 

In   the   chambers  of  his  breast. 
Still   he   heard  that  voice   so   thrilling, 

In  its  beauty  sweet  and   grand ; 
Still  he  saw  the   shining   rivers 

Flowing  downward   through  the   land ; 
Still  he  bore   his  cross  unmurmuring, 

Though   with   bitterest  pain   oppressed. 
Till   his  guardian   angel   called   him 

Home   to  everlasting  rest. 


THE  HAUNTED  HOMESTEAD. 


WHERE  the  tree-crowned  mountains  tower 
Grandly  o'er  the  fertile  plain 
Stands  the  homestead  orchard-girt 
*Mid  its  leagues  of  waving  grain. 

Fair  before  the  forest  lies, 

Bounding  its  broad  meadows'  sweep  ;.| 
In  its  streams  the  fish  disport  . 

Where  the  shades  lie  cool  and  deep, 

But  its  garden-walks  are  sad, 

All  its  roses  dead  and  sere, 
And  a  gloom  o'erhangs  the  place 

Through  all  seasons  of  the  year. 

There  the  zephyr's  murmuring  voice 

Has  a  tone  of  one  that  grieves, 
And  men  say  that  spirits  there 

Wander  through  the  summer  eves. 

Up  and  down  the  olden  stair, 
When  night's  shadows  darkly  fall, 

Rustling  robes  are  heard  to  glide, 
Footsteps  tread  along  the  hall. 

In  the  chambers  fair  and  high 

Voices  whisper  on  the  air ;    i 
As  the  midnight  hour  draws  near 

Ghostly  eyes  are  seen  to  stare;] 

o  455 


456  THE  ^HA  UN  TED  HOMESTEAD, 

And  the  wakened  slumberer  starts, 
Trembling  with  a  chill  of  dread, 

As  he  feels  an  ice-cold  hand 
Rest  a  moment  on  his  head ; 

And  his  straining  vision  marks, 
Dim  as  vapor  on  a  glass, 

Through  the  darkness  moving  slow, 
Shadowy,  white-robed  figures  pass. 

Deep  the  mystic  gloom  doth  lie, 
Veiling  all  the  ancient  place. 

But  unto  its  hidden  source 
None  the  mystery  can  trace. 

Vainly  do  men  question  why 
Hapless  spirits  wander  here 

Nightly  till  the  old  clock's  chimes 
Warn  them  of  the  dawning  near. 

And  the  dwellers  in  that  home, 
As  they  wander  to  and  fro, 

Pause  to  breathe  a  pitying  prayer 
For  the  restless  spirits*  woe. 


CONVERSION  OF  FA  THER  HERMANN, 

(From  Legends  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament^  by  Mrs,  E.  M.  Shapcote.) 


''T^WAS  the  glad  Month  of  Our  Lady  ;  from  bright- 
1       wreathed  shrine  and  column 
Were  breathing  forth  their  fragrance  the  sweetest 
flowers  of  May,' 
And  our  Mother's   praises  echoed,  chanted   by   the 
sweetest  singers 
Of  that  city,  crowned  by  fashion   as  the  gayest  of 
the  gay. 

On  the  altar  tapers  glittered  ;   evening's  dusky  shades 
were  banished 
By  the  myriad  lights  reflected  from  the   kneeling 
throng  below; 
And  as  clouds  of  incense  drifted,  you  might  deem  the 
angels  bending 
To  glean  the  sheaves  of  worship  and  the  breathM 
tales  of  woe. 

Never  had  such  glorious  anthems  waked  the  echoes 
of  that  temple 
As  those  which,  rising,  falling,  seemed  like  voices 
from  on  high  ; 
For  a  prince's  wealth  assembled  there  the  talent  of 
the  city, 
To  sing  her  praise  who  ruleth,  Queen  of  the  earth 
and  sky. 

457 


458    CONVERSION   OF  FATHER  HERMANN. 

But  the  leader  of  the  choir  sat  all  unmoved,  unheeding, 
'Mid  the  thrilling  roll  of  music  and  eloquence  and 
song  ; 
No  ray  of  Faith  ilkimined  the  darkness  of  liis  spirit, 
Or  made  him  one  in  feeling  with  the  rapt,  adoring 
throng. 

The  lights,   the  flowers,  the  music,   the   worshippers 
around  him. 
In     the     world's    spoiled     darling     wakened     no 
thoughts  of  God  on  high, 
Till  the  solemn  "Tantum    Ergo,"  in   its  grand  and 
glorious  beauty, 
Making   every    heart    beat    faster    as    its    accents 
drifted  by  ; 

Then  the   Sacred   Host  was  lifted,  and   as    o'er  the 
kneeling  concourse 
The    Saviour    veiled    his    splendor,  to    bless    each 
faithful  heart, 
A  power  unseen  moved  Hermann   to  bend  his  knee 
in  homage, 
And  in  the  son  of  Israel  waked  his  nature's  better 
part. 

He  knelt  before  the  Saviour,  and,  as  dew  falls,  fell  the 
blessing  : 
Oh  !  the    Queen    of    Heaven    was   pleading   for   a 
cherished  soul  that  day, 
One  of  those  to  her  bequeathM  as  she  stood  of  old 
on  Calvary, 
And  she  claimed  him  for  her  crowning  in  that  pre- 
cious month  of  May 


CONVERSION  OF  FATHER   HERMANN.     459. 

Then,  as  liyacinthine  blossoms  stir  within  the  earth's 
cold  bosom 
When  o'er  smiling,  sunny  uplands  comes  the  warm 
breath  of  the  spring, 
So   Faith's    flowers,  pure    and  starlike,  felt  the  first, 
tlirill  of  existence 
As  the  proud  musician's  forehead  bent  low  before 
our   King — 

Flowers   of  Faith,    whose    wondrous   beauty   was  to 
gladden  earth's  remoteness 
When  that  heart,  by  love  so  humbled,  taught  God's 
mercy  far  and  near. 
The  lover  of  the  Eucharist,  its  Apostle,  as  men  nam- 
ed him, 
With    eloquence    Heaven-given   showed   to  all,   in 
beauty  clear. 

The  wondrous  love   that  prompted  the  Saviour  thus 
to  give  us, 
In  Sacramental  symbols,  himself  to  be  our  food, 
Dwelling  ever  on    our  altars,  and  the  mystery  of  his 
Passion 
Daily  in  the  solemn  service  of  the  holy  Church  re- 
.  newed. 

So  by  precept   and   example   did  he  lead  the  eager 
masses 
To  a  nearer,  clearer  knowledge  of  our  Eucharistic 
Lord, 
And  formed  a  Guard   of  Honor  that  from  midnight 
until  midnight. 
In   the  temples  once  deserted,  now  their  sovereign 
King  adored. 


460    CONVERSION  OF  FATHER  HERMANN. 


As  the  Sacred  Host  had  called  liim  to  the  light  of 
Truth  Eternal, 
In   its    honor   did    he    offer  all    his    life's    exalted 
powers, 
And  as  an  humble  servant  of  our  Lady  of  Mount  Car- 
mel 
He  shone  a  bright  example  in   this  worldly  age  of 
ours 


''BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERSr 


IRELAND. 

ONE  Christmas  Eve  the  soldiers 
Came  hurrying  through  the  town 
With  glittering  sword  and  halberd, 

With  angry  threat  and  frown. 
From  street  to  street  they  hastened, 

From  house  to  house  they  passed,  ■ 
Searching  with  swift  impatience ; 

And  when  they  turned  at  last, 
Clear  rang  the  martial  bugle, 

And  then,  with  loud  acclaim, 
His  monarch's  will  a  herald 

To  the  people  did  proclaim  : 

"Thus  speaks  our  gracious  monarch: 

A  thousand  crowns  reward, 
And  lands  and  courtly  honors, 

To  peasant  hind  or  lord 
Who  will  to  her  surrender 

The  accursed  priest  of  Rome 
Who,  late  from  Madrid  city, 

Came  here  to  seek  a  home. 
Son  of  a  rebel  chieftain. 

Harbored  by  traitorous  men, 
Haste  ye  to  track  this  foreign  spy 

And  drag  him  from  his  den  ! 

461 


462  ''BREAD   UPON   THE   WATER Sr 

Then  will  our  monarch's  favor 
Unto  your  town  be  shown, 

And  you  your  true  allegiance 

Prove  to  her  power  and  throne." 

He  ceased.     The  crowd  pressed  onward, 

The  troopers  passed  along  ; 
But  one  alone  moved  silent 

Amid  the  hurrying  throng: 
A  man  with  age-bowed  figure, 

Whose  mantle,  worn  and  brown, 
Scarce  hid  his  tattered  garments — 

A  beggar  of  the  town. 
Scant  seemed  the  heed  he  yielded 

Unto  the    herald's  call. 
But  right  and  left  he  wandered, 

As  seeking  aid  from  all. 
Sometimes  his  eyes  were  lifted 
-    In  swift,  inquiring  gaze, 
As  though  to  scan  the  features 

Of  friends  of  other  days* 
Sometimes  a  kindly  accent, 

Sometimes  a  word  of  cheer, 
A  dole  of  tender  pity, 

Fell  on  the  wanderer's  ear. 
At  times  he  lieard  a  murmur 

Of  wild,  heartrending  pain 
That  forced  him,  in  sweet  sympathy, 

To  pause  and  turn  again 
With  the  sweet  balm  of  comfort 

Which  will  through  all  endure — 
The  spirit's  wealth,    the  only  gift 

The  "poor  can  give  the  poor. 


''BREAD    UPON   THE   WATERS."  463 

Before  a  stately  mansion 

At  last  he  paused  to  rest  ; 
But  loitering  squire  and  lackey  vain 

Spurned  him  with  taunt  and  jest, 
Till  one  came  forth  who  sternly 

Forbade  their  cruel  play, 
And  bade  his  trusty  henchman 

Lead  the  old  man  away : 
"  Go,  give  him  food  and  shelter — 

He  shall  want  neither  here : 
Upon   tlie  glorious  morrow 

He'll  share  our  Christmas  cheer. 
'Tis  said  the    Irish  baron' 

Who  built  this  hall  of  yore 
Vowed  that  no  hungry  beggar 

Should  ever  leave  his  door ; 
And  I,  who  'neath  his  roof-tree 

Now  break  my  daily  bread, 
Will  that  a  wish  so  noble 

Should  be  as  nobly  sped." 

Midnight  within  the  castle 

Deep  calm  with  silence  blends 
Mysteriously,  as  slumber's  veil 

Upon  the  earth  descends. 
Sleep  came  not  to  the  castle's  lord  ; 

Thought  bade  its  spell  depart, 
For  heavily  some  burden  lay 

Upon  his  warrior-heart. 
At  length  he  rose  and  traversed 

The  hallway's  murky  gloom 
In  stern  and  musing  silence 

Until  he  reached  the  room 


464  ''BREAD    UPON   THE   WATERS:' 

Where,  by  his  special  mandate, 

The  beggar  had  found  rest 
Since  Christmas  Eve — three  days  and  nights 

The  castle's  honored  guest. 
He  passed  the  threshold,  closing 

With  care  the  ponderous  door, 
Drew  bolt  and  bar  securely, 

And,  when  tliat   task  was  o'er, 
Turned  where  his  guest,  to  greet  him, 

Surprised  and  silent  stood, 
His  wan   face  almost  hidden 

Beneath  his  mantle's  hood. 
Slowly  he  crossed  the  chamber. 

Then,  sight  most  strange  to  see, 
Before  the  seeming  beggar 

Sir  Francis  bent  his  knee, 
Saying  :  "  My  heart  reads  rightly 

What  no  disguise  can  hide  : 
Humbly  I  crave  the  blessing 

To  mortals  ne'er  denied. 
Lo  !  at  thy  feet,  my  father, 

With  contrite  heart  1  lay 
The  burdening  cares  and  sorrows 

And  woes  of  many  a  day." 

Oh !  not  for  pen  of  poet 

That  blissful  hour  to  paint. 
Which  saw  a  world-worn  spirit 

Bow  to  love's  sweet  restraint, 
As  the  poor,  hunted  friar 

Upon  his  generous  foe, 
From  Heaven's  boundless  wealth  ofmercy, 

Bade  healing  blessings  flow. 


''BREAD    UPON   THE   WATERS:'  465 

The  moments  fled  unnoticed ; 

At  length  Sir  Francis  said  : 
*•  No  longer  mayst  thou  tarry  here ; 

A  price  is  on  thy  head  ; 
A  thousand  snares  surround  thee. 

Fear  not,  but  come  with  me ; 
Beyond  the  city's  outposts 

A  friend  awaiteth  thee." 

II. 

ENGLAND. 

Years  passed ;  the  royal  favor 

Smiled  on  the  knight  no  more, 
But  prison,  chains,  and  torture 

The  brave  Sir  Francis  bore. 
His  broad  estates  sequestered. 

His  friends  in  exile  drear. 
In  London's  gloomy  prison, 

His  death-hour  drawing  near, 
He  waited,  hoping,  praying. 

Ere  life's  last  hour,  a  priest 
Would  bear  unto  his  prison 

Love's  Eucharistic  Feast, 
To  nerve  him  for  the  anguish 

Of  question,  rack,  and  screw, 
And  to  proclaim  with  courage 

His  Faith  and  Hope  anew. 
Only  the  all-sustaining 

And  all-embracing  power 
Of  God  could  hold  unfaltering 

His  spirit  in  that  hour. 


466  ''BREAD    UPON  THE   WATER Sr 

So  day  by  day  dragged  onward, 

Night  after  night  told  o'er 
Its  moments  sorrow-freiglited  : 

No  liope  the  dawnings  bore 
Until  the  last  fair  sunset 

That  e'er  would  glad  his  eyes 
On  earth  shot  golden  arrows 

Athwart  the  western  skies; 
Piercing  his  grated  windows, 

Their  glory  seemed  to  bear 
A  ray  of  hope  arid  comfort 

Through  the  close,  fetid  air. 
And,  watching  it.  Sir   Francis 

Thought  of  the  light  untold 
That  shineth  clear  and  radiant 

Within  God's  courts  of  gold. 
While  thus  he  mused   the  jailer 

Bearing  the  evening  meal, 
Entered,   and,   with  a  sternness 

He  feigned  but  did  not  feel. 
Ordered  a  strange  attendant 

To  place  the  food  aright ; 
Then   said :    *'  I  go  ;   but,    mark  ^thee, 

Guard  well   the   rebel   knight. 
For  one  brief  hour  I   leave   him 

Alone  unto   thy   care. 
Awhile  his  last  night's  vigil 

In   prison-cell   to  [share." 

Oh!    hour  too   brief  and   fleeting; 

Fast  fled   its  golden  sands. 
Moments  with   blessings   freighted. 

Borne  down   by  angel  hands  ;    , , 


''BREAD   UPON  THE   WATERSr  467 

For   in   his  guard   Sir  Francis 

Saw  the  priest  of  liis   desire, 
His  guest  that   long-past   Christmas— 

The   grateful   Irish   friar. 

"  Through   toils   and   myriad   dangers, 

By  service,  pleading,   prayer, 
I  won  at  last   this  favor — 

For   one  brief  hour   to   share 
With   thee   thy   gloomy   vigil, 

Thus   seeking  to  repay 
With   Christian   aid  and   counsel — 

The  true  soul's  strength  and   stay — 
The  generous  love   and   pity 

That  in   thy  heart  I  found 
When   in   my  native   city, 

Fierce   enemies   around. 
Beneath  my  father's  roof-tree, 

E'en   by  a  foeman's  hand, 
Was   given   sweet  rest  and   safety 

From  the  pursuer's  band. 
I  go,  but  will  be  with  thee 

Through  all  the  night  in  prayer, 
Pleading  for  thee  God's  mercy 

And  all-embracing  care. 
And  our  poor,  suffering  brethren— 

They,  too,  will  watch  and  pray. 
And  will  upon  the  morrow 

Be  near  thee  on  thy  way.  , 

Where  cross-road  crowds  press  closest, 

In  their  demoniac  glee. 
Upon  the  way  to  Tyburn, 

Thy  Lord  will  wait  for  thee." 


468  -'BREAD    VFON   THE   WATERS: 

Morn  dawned  :   the  mighty  city, 

Half-veiled  in  vapory  air, 
Growled   like   a  wild   beast  rousing 

From  slumber  in  its   lair  ; 
And  never   wild   beast   waking 

In  hunger  for   its  prey 
Was  fiercer  than    the   rabble 

In  London  streets   that  day.- 
Like  streams  from  many  sources 

Joined   in  one  current  strong, 
Along  the. road  to  Tyburn 

Swept  the  excited  throng. 
Denser  the  crowd  grew,  denser, 

As  the  last  hour  drew  nigh, 
Thirsting  for  blood  and  eager 

To  see  a  noble  die. 
Beside  the  cross-roads  waiting. 

In  garments  worn  and  brown, 
His  meek  head  bowed  in  silence, 

Stood  a  beggar  of  the  town. 
Shuddering  he  heard  the  voices 

Of  those  around  him  rise 
In  blasphemy  and  anger, 

In  fierce,  exultant  cries. 
As  nearer  still  and  nearer 

The  sad  procession  came, 
The  fury  of  the  populace 

Burst  forth  in  sudden  flame. 
Closer  they  pressed,  and  closer. 

To  view  the  pallid  face 
Where  prison,  pain,  and  torture 

Had  left  their  cruel  trace ; 


''BREAD    UPON    THE   fVATERS"  469 

Uttering  their  fierce  reviling, 

Laughing  in  mocking  glee, 
In  suffering  and  in  dire  distress 

A  noble  knight  to  see. 
The  sheriff  and  his  armed  band 

Dealt  blows  like  falling  rain 
To  force  the  angry  people  back,  . 

An  open  way  to  gain. 
Vainly.     They  halt.     Tlie  beggar  then 

Unto  Sir  Francis  sped ; 
Unnoticed  'mid  the  surging  mass, 

He  raised  his  bruised  head ; 
With  reverent  lips  and  holy 

The  final  words  were  said. 
Men  only  saw  a  beggar 

Clasping  in  fond  embrace 
The  gallant  knight  and  soldier 

Sprung  from  a  lordly  race; 
But  angels  in  that  moment 

Beheld  with  reverence  dread 
A  contrite  heart  receiving 

The  Eucharistic  Bread. 
With  threat  and  blow  the  soldiers 

Drove   back  the  crowd  at  last, 
And  'twixt  the  living  wall  once  more 

The  sad  procession  passed, 
Until  the  final  goal  was  reached — 

Dread  Tyburn !  sanctified 
So  often   by  the  martyr's  blood, 

Poured  out  in  crimson   tide. 
There  by  the  headsman's  dripping  blade. 

Was  the  pure  soul  set  free,  • 

To  join  its  kindred  hosts  aloft 

'Mid   heavenly  harmony. 


470  ''BREAD    UPON  THE   WATERS:' 

Brave  Cliristian   knight !   another  soul 

Was  waiting  for  him  there  ; 
Another  valiant  heart  had  ceased 

Life's  heavy  cross  to  bear; 
For,  stricken   by  a  soldier's  blade, 

The  faithful  friar  fell, 
The  murmurs  of  the  maddened  throng 

Sounding  his  funeral  knell. 
Thence  sorrowing  friends  with  tender  love 

Bore  the  still  form  away  ; 
With  .Christian   prayer  and  Christian  hope 

They  mourned  him   many  a  day, 
But  felt  that  on   a  brighter  shore 

His  sweet  voice  swelled  the  strain 
Of  endless  love,  of  worship  grand. 

Of  joy  that  knows  no  pain. 
United  there  behold  the  friends 

Who,  by  God's  wondrous  grace. 
Passed  through  the   martyr's  sea  of  blood 

To  dwell  before  his  face ; 
Where  all  the  greatest  woes  of   earth 

Seem  mean  and  trifling  things 
When  weighed   against  the  great   re^vard 

Given   by  the   King  of  kings. 


MAUD'S  HERO. 


HE  never  said  be  loved  me  ;  never  told 
That  tale  we  women  like  so  well  to  hold 
A  precious  treasure  folded  evermore 
In  our  hearts'  keeping,  something  to  dream  o'er 
When  duty  calls  the  dear  one  from  our  side, 
Or  in  the  holy  calm  of  eventide. 
And  yet  I  knew  it :   plainly  I  could  trace 
The  story  in  the  brightening  of  his  face, 
The  kindling  glances  of  his  azure  eye, 
And  tenderer  accents  when  I  lingered  nigh  ; 
For  we  were  much  together  in  those  days 
Of  summer's  glow  and  autumn's  golden  haze — 
He  a  young  poet,  skilled  in  learned  lore 
And  the  quaint  legends  of  the  days  of  yore, 
From  wearying  labor  for  a  while  set  free, 
And  resting  there  beside  the  sounding  sea. 

The  days  sped  by  with  pleasure's  cheery  zest, 

Till  one  wild  eve,  when  cloud-veils  draped  the  west, 

And  the  Atlantic,  summoning  its  host. 

Charged  in  mad  fury  on  the  rocky  coast. 

I  feel  its  thunders  thrill  my  spirit  yet 

With  a  strange  terror  I  can  ne'er  forget. 

Then,  as  the  night  closed  down  without  a  star. 

Arose  the  cry  :  "  A  vessel  on  the  bar  !  " 

High  o'er  the  storm  we  lieard  a  cannon  boom  : 

Its  flash  revealed  the  brave  ship  through  the  gloom, 


472  MAUD'S  HERO. 


With  broad  decks  crowded  with  a  mortal  freight, 
Waiting  'mid  surging  seas  a  dreadful  fate, 
Waiting  and  praying  'mid  the  tempest's  roar 
For  aid  and  safety  from  the  friendly  shore. 

And  the  help  came,  for  swift  the  tidings  flew, 
And  from  their  huts  the  hardy  fishers  drew ; 
In  that  dread  moment  not  a  hand  delayed, 
But  all  were  prompt  and  earnest  in  their  aid  : 
The  dainty  loiterer  from  the  distant  town 
Wrought  with  the  sturdy  toiler  bold  and  brown. 
I  watched  them  man  the  life-boat,  saw  it  start, 
And  with  it  went  the  joy  of  my  young  heart  ; 
For  he  was  foremost  of  the  brave  men  there — 
The  few  brave  men  with  strength  the  waves  to  dare. 

Tossed  on  the  breakers,  'whelmed  by  rushing  spray^ 

Steadfast  and  true  it  kept  upon  its  way. 

And  all  were  rescued,  all,  all  reached  the  shore, 

Save  him — I  looked  upon  his  face  no  more. 

He  died  as  heroes  die  :  his  strong  young  life 

Went  out  amid  the  water's  angry  strife. 

He  died  for  others  ;  may  the  God  above 

Accept  his  sacrifice  of  human  love. 

And  Amy,  dear,  though  years  may  intervene, 

My  faithful  heart  will  keep  his  memory  green. 


GERTRUDE, 


A    LEGEND    OF    BRUSSELS. 


THEY  tell  this  tale  in  Brussels,  city  old  : 
How,  years  ago,  a  gentle  maiden  won 
By  her  rare  beauty  and  her  worth  untold 

The  true  love  of  a  rich  old  burgher's  son — 
A  rich  old  burgher  who  with  bitter  scorn 

Looked  down  on  those  who   toiled  to  earn    their 
bread, 
And  vowed  the  fair  embroideress  lowly  born 

Should  never  to  a  son  of  his  be  wed  ; 
For  she  was  dowerless,  and  no  dowerless  wife 

With  his  consent  his  hoarded  wealth  would  share. 
Then  darkly  o'er  the  lover's  sky  of  life 
His  father's  anger  cast  its  clouding  care. 

But  youth  is  hopeful  ;   and  while  trusting  hearts 

Are  kindled  by  love's  pure  and  fervent  glow, 
The  darkest  shadow  from  their  path  departs, 

And    Hope's    sweet    smile    makes    summer    here 
below. 
Fair  Gertrude,  bending  o'er  her  'broidery-frame, 

Watched    bird   and   flower   beneath  her  hand  un- 
fold, 
And,  calling  oft  on  Mary's  holy  name. 

Her  sorrow  to  the  pitying  Mother  told. 


474  GERTRUDE. 


And  once,  when  bells  swung  in  the  airy  tower 

Flooded  the  listening  air  with  golden  rain, 
The  chime  that  told  the  Ave's  holy  hour 

Chanting  Our  Lady's  praises  once  again, 
The  maiden,  kneeling  in  her  lonely  room 

With  bended  head,  her  soul  al)sorbed  in  prayer, 
Gave  all  her  life,  its  sunshine  and  its  gloom, 

With  childlike  trust  into  Our  Lady's  care; 
Then  rose  in  gladness  to  her  daily  toil, 

Singing  sweet  hymns  as  her  deft  fingers  wrought — " 
Strains  that  the  tempter's  luring  efforts  foil. 

And  unto  Gertrude's  soul  strange  gladness  brought. 

Lo  !  as  she  sang  and  worked,  beside  her  there 

Her  startled  gaze  beheld  a  woman  stand 
With  face  of  beauty  more  than  angel's  fair. 

Of  presence  gracious,  calm,  serene,  and  grand. 
She  placed  a  cushion  upon  Gertrude's  knee, 

And  with  swift  motion  taught  her  hands  to  trace 
And  weave  in  filmy  texture,  fair  to  see. 

Blossom  and  bud  in  dainty  folds  of  lace. 
The  maiden,  e'en  as  one  mute  with  surprise, 

Beheld  the  wondrous  web,  that  grew  and  grew 
Until  the  Lady  turned  her  heavenly  eyes 

Upon  her  with  a  sweet  smile  of  adieu. 
Passing  forth  from  the  chamber  as  she  came, 

The  vision  vanished  in  the  sunlit  air, 
While  Gertrude,  all  her  iieart  with  love  aflame, 

Sank  to  the  earth  in  meek  thanksgiving  prayer. 
"Ave  Maria,"  tearfully  she  said, 

"  O  gentle  Mother  !   thou  hast  heard  my  prayer  ; 
I  thank  thee,  thank  thee  for  thy  loving  aid; 

I  thank  thee.  Mother,  for  thy  guarding  care." 


GERTRUDE. 


475 


Time  passed  ;  wealth  came,  for  Gertrude's  wondrous 
lace 

Grew  famous  in  the  city  ;  soon  her  dower 
Flowed  in  from  many  coffers  ;  rank  and  place 

Were  hers.     The  bells  rang  out  her  bridal  hour, 
And  she  dwelt  happy  in  her  husband's  love. 

Children's    blithe    voices    filled    her    home]  with 
glee; 
Within  her  heart  nestled  the  snowy  dove 

Of  Peace,  and  there  abode  blest  Charity. 

But  a  dark  season  fell  upon  the  land 

When    Labor's   arm   was   stayed,  and   Want   came 
forth 
With  gaunt-faced  Famine  and  her  mournful  band. 

Sweeping    the    country    through     from    south    to 
north. 
Amid  the  city's  poor  they  reigned  supreme, 

Banishing  plenty,  happiness,  and  health, 
But,  vanquished,  fled  before  the  magic  gleam 

Of  gold  within  the  palaces  of  wealth. 
But  lo !  to  happy  Gertrude  came  one  day 

The  wondrous  Lady  whom  she  once  had  seen  ; 
Around  her  shone  the  heaven's  illumining  ray. 

But  stern  and  awful  was  her  regal  mien. 
She  spoke — wiiat  thrilling  power  in  every  word! 

What  love  and  what  reproof  in  every  tone  ! — 
"Gertrude,  hast  thou  forgotten  me.-*     I  heard, 

When  thou  wert  weeping  in  thy  anguish  lone — 
I  heard  and  helped  thee.     All  ungrateful,  tiiou 

Hast  kept  a  secret  what  I  did  impart. 
See,  all  around  thee  wail  my  children  now, 

Who  had  been  happy  had  they  known  thy  art. 


47^  GERTRUDE. 


Go  forth  and  teach  the  daughters  of  the  land, 

The  balm  of  knowledge  on  their  sufferings  pour, 
And,  won  back  by  the  cunning  of  each  hand, 

The  days  of  plenty  will  return  once  more. 
Go  forth  and  teach  them ;  thus  shalt  thou  atone 

For  thy  forgetfulness,  thus  shalt  thou  win 
Pardon  from  Him  whose  power  all  nations  own, 

Who  on  the  Cross  paid  ransom  for  man's  sin." 

And  then  the  Lady  vanished.     Gertrude  sped 

With  eager  haste  her  mandate  to  fulfil, 
On  many  hearts  the  light  of  hope  to  shed. 

And  teach  to  all  the  secret  of  her  skill. 
And  Heaven  smiled  on  her  labors :  far  around 

Among  the  poor  the  art  she  taught  them  spread, 
And  Industry  her  blessed  guerdon  found, 

And  Plenty  smiled  as  dreaded  Famine  fled. 


DIM  AS. 


WITHIN  a  rude  and  lonely  cave 
Fronting   upon  the  desert  wild, 
As  evening  shadows  veiled  the  earth 

An  Arab  mother  nursed  her  child, 
Singing  in  soft  and  soothing  strains 

A  sweet,  melodious  lullaby  ; 
But  ever  in  its  low  refrain 

There  lurked  the  echo  of  a  sigh. 
And  in  her  loving  gaze  was  seen 

A  shadow  flung  from  sorrow's  night. 
For  the  dear  child  o'er  which  she  bent 

With  the  foul  leprosy  was  white. 
Ah!  well  might  that  poor  mother  grieve 

The  child  was  all  her   joy  in  life. 
Her  husband  was  a  robber-chief, 

Famed  for  his  daring  deeds  of  strife; 
O'er  all  the  desert's  wide  domain 

Men  fled  the  terrors  of  his  glance. 
No  Arab  like  to  him  could  ride, 

Or  hurl  at  speed  the  flying  lance. 

Now  as  the  weeping  mother  nursed 

Her  child  within  the  lonely  cave, 
Lo  !  travellers  from  the  desert  came 

A  shelter  for  the  night  to  crave. 
One  was   a  man  with  flowing  beard, 

And  gentle   but  commanding  grace — 
A  mien  befitting  him  who  sprang 

From  royal  David's  kingly  race. 


478  DIM  AS. 


And  with  him  came  the   Mother-Maid, 

The  Virgin  spotless,  meek,  and  mild, 
Bearing  within  her  sheltering  arms 

God's  well-beloved,  the   sweet  Christ-Child. 
Commanded  by  the  angel's  voice, 

From  Nazareth's  humble  home  they  fled. 
To  seek  in  Egypt's  pagan  land 

A  shelter  for  the  Saviour's  head. 
Out  through  the  desert  vast  and  drear 

Wiiere  Israel's  children  once  had  trod, 
And  owned  in  trembling  and  in  fear 

The  presence  of  the  Almighty  God, 
All  day   the  sun    with   burning  ray 

Shone  down    upon   the  Infant's  form, 
Or  cold   and  cutting  breezes    blew 

When  there   was  naught  to  keep   him  warm. 
They  felt   the    desert's   burning  thirst — 

For  the  sweet   springs  were  scattered  wide — 
And  many  an  hour  of  danger  knew 

Before   they   reached   the    cavern's   side. 
There   sought  they  shelter  for  the   night ; 

And   the   kind   Arab  woman  spoke 
Sweet  welcome  to  the  stranger-guests, 

For  pity  in    her  heart   awoke  : 
And  so    she  bade  them   enter  in, 

Her  cave's  rude  comforts   freely  share, 
And  served  the  Mother  and  the   Child 

With   tenderest  reverence  and  care. 

Tlie   presence   of  the  Infant  God, 

Tiie  glory  of  his  smiling  face. 
Within  her  inmost    spirit  wrought 

A  wondrous  miracle   of  grace. 


DIM  AS.  479 


And  in  the  water  where  the  limbs 

Of  Nazareth's  blessed  Babe  were  laved 
She  washed  her  leprous  child,  and  lo  ! 

The  darling  infant's   life  was  saved. 
The   snowy  tint  presaging  death 

By  the  dread  scourge   of  leprosy 
Vanished,  and   the   young  Dimas  smiled, 

Rosy  and   fair,   and  blithe  with  glee. 

Years  passed,  and  Dimas'  boyhood  knew 

Full  many  a  wild  and    daring  deed  ; 
Years  passed,  and,  when  to  manhood  grown, 

His  father's  band  he  joyed  to  lead. 
But  still  within   his  outlawed  life 

Some  gentler  feelings   held   a  part — 
Faint  traces   of  the  kindly  glow 

That  warmed  his  gentle   mother's  heart. 
Yet  oft  his  deeds  of  ruth  and  wrong 

To   startled  listeners   were  told. 
Till   outraged  Justice  sprang  to  arms 

And  seized  and   bound  the   robber  bold. 
The   judges  doomed  him  to  the  death 

Upon  that  wondrous  day  of  days 
When,  shrinking  from  the  world's  disgrace, 

The   glorious  sun  withdrew  his  rays — 
The  day  when  Israel's  teachers  sage, 

High-priests,  and  rulers  all  combined 
Condemned  to    outrage  and   to  scorn 

The  heavenly  Saviour  of  mankind ; 
The  day  that  saw  the  pitying  Lord 

Forgiving  each  mad    Deicide, 
J^ooking   with  pity  on  the  forms 

Hanging  in   pain  on   either  side, 


480  DIM  AS. 


While  round  him    rang  the  jest   and  jeer, 

The  wild,  derisive  scoff  and  'shout, 
As  the   fierce  passions  of  the   hour 

Swayed   all  the  city's   rabble  rout. 
Then   Dimas,  torn  with  bitter  pain 

And  agony,  joined   in   the  cry  ; 
But,   meek   and  silent,  Jesus  gave 

A  loving  glance  as  sole   reply. 
Then  Dimas,  rapt  in   wonder,  gazed 

Upon  the  patient  Saviour  long, 
Till  mingling  tides   of  love  and  fear 

Within  his  wakening  soul  grew  strong  ; 
And  Faith,  in    rays   divinely  bright, 

Shone  o'er  his  spirit  in   that  hour. 
And   with   a  contrite  heart  he  owned 

In  pleading  tones  the  Saviour's   power. 
"Remember  me   when  thou  wilt   come 

Into  thy   kingdom,  Lord  !  "  he  cried. 
"And  thou  shalt    be    with   me   to-day 

In  Paradise,"   the  Lord  replied. 

And  the  forgiven   one  was  bathed 

With   blood  and  water  from   tlie  side 
Of  Christ  when   with   a    spear  they  oped 

Unto  his  heart  a  passage  wide. 
O  blest  baptismal   rain  which  washed 

Away  the  leprosy  of  sin  ! 
O  passage  opened  to  God's    heart 

For  weary   ones   to   enter  in  ! 


HOME  WA  RD  BO  UND, 


HOMEWARD  bound,  we  heard  the  billows 
Murmur  ever  round  our  way, 
As  the  mighty  waste  of  waters 

Widened  round  us  day  by  day, 
From  the  hour  when,  backward  glancing 

O'er  the  broad  horizon's  rim. 
We  beheld  the  Southern  Islands 

Sinking  in  the  distance  dim  ; 
Then  we  bade  the  ocean's  vastness 

To  our  joyous  notes  resound. 
As  each  heart  gave  back  an  echo 

To  the  glad  song,  **  Homeward  Bound." 

Song. 

Homeward  bound  from  the  land  of  the  stranger, 
Home,  home  o'er  the  deep-sounding  sea  ; 

Home,  home  to  the  hearts  that  are  watching, 
And  waiting,  and  praying  for  me. 

Oh  !  red  lips  have  grieved  o'er  my  absence, 
And  bright  eyes  grown  heavy  and  sad, 

But  homeward  I  haste,  and  my  coming 
Will  render  them  blithesome  and  glad. 

Oh  !  the  voice  of  their  welcome  will  cheer  me. 
And  my  long  days  of  travel  and  toil 

Be  forgotten  when  dear  ones  are  near  me, 
At  home  on  my  own  native  soil. 


482  HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

For  love  with  her  crowning  awaits  me 
In  that  spot  which  my  soul  yearns  to  see, 

Where  daily  and  nightly  my  fond  ones 
Are  watching  and  praying  for  me. 


There  was  one  who  journeyed  with  us, 

Gray  and  wrinkled,  bent  and  old, 
One  who  sat  in  musing  silence 

While  his  comrades  sang,  or  told 
Tales  fraught  with  adventurous  daring — 

Perils  upon  sea  or  strand  ; 
Dangers  of  the  golden  regions 

In  the  wild  Australian  land  ; 
Stories  of  the  lone  black  forest 

Where  the  wily  bushmen  lay, 
Leagued  with  cunning  convict  robbers 

Bolder,  bloodier  far  than  tiiey  ; 
Till  the  youngest  of  our  party 

Courage  for  the  question  found, 
Asking:  "Whither  art  thou  journeying? 

And  he  answered,  "Homeward  bound. 


"  Homeward  bound — God  only  knoweth 

What  those  two  words  mean  to  me. 
Many,  many  years  of  sorrow 

I  have  dwelt  beyond  the  sea — 
Years  of  bitter  pain  and  heartache, 

Years  of  weary,  hopeless  toil. 
Serving  out  my  term  of  labor, 

Convict  on  a  foreign  soil ; 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  483 


Hearing  never  word  or  token 

From  the  dear  ones  left  behind, 
From  my  young  wife  fair  and  loving, 

From  my  father  old  and  blind. 
When  my  penal  term  was  over, 

I,  grown  prematurely  old, 
Scorned,  despised,  and  half-despairing, 

Toiled  to  win   a  little  gold, 
Just  enough  to  bear  me  homeward  ; 

But  no  smile  of  fortune  came, 
Want  and  sickness  adding  horror 

To  the  convict's  hated  name. 
I  have  written — written  often — 

But  no  answer  came  to  me 
Through   those  dreary,  dreary  seasons 

Since  I  crossed  the  sounding  sea. 
You  have  hopes  and  dreams ;  your  future 

Beckons  brightly  to  you  yet ; 
All  your  crosses  are  but  shadows, 

You  have  nothing  to  regret. 
While  I  weary  with  this  struggle 

Of  my  spirit  evermore. 
Will  one  friend  be  left  to  greet  me 

When  I  reach  my  native  shore  ?  " 

Then  he  told  his  life's  sad  story 

To  the  eager,  listening  ring  ; 
He  had  loved  his  fallen  country 

Better  than  he  loved  his  king ; 
For  the  rest,  no  boy  among  us 

But  knew  well  the  patriot's  gain, 
In  those  days  of  want  and  bloodshed, 

Were  the  gibbet  and  the  chain  ; 


484  HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

When  the  country-side  was  swarming 

With  the  "  Redcoats,"  and,  in  fear. 
From  their  homes  to  fields  and  ditches 

Fled  the  people  far  and  near. 
And  we  listened  to  his  story. 

While  the  waves  no  bond  can  hold, 
Chanted  on  the  song  unending. 

Through  the  ages  they  have  told. 

Days  passed  on  ;  the  weary  voyage 

Drew  at  last  unto  its  close. 
But  the  old  man  faded  daily 

'Neath  the  burden  of  his  woes  ; 
And  when  only  three  days'  sailing 

Lay  betwixt  us  and  our  home, 
From  the  deck  no  more  the  exile 

AVatched  the  seething  waters  foam. 
So  we  sought  him ;  he  was  lying 

Calm  and  voiceless    in  his  pain, 
But  the  hand  of  death  had  sealed  him 

With  its  signet  bold  and  plain. 
Pitying  eyes  were  watching  o'er  him, 

Rude  but  kindly  hearts  were  there, 
Sootliing  him  with  words  of  comfort, 

Joining  with  him  in  his  prayer 
For  one  glimpse  of  dear  old  Ireland, 

One  breath  of  her  fragrant  breeze, 
Life  to  save  him  from  the  burial 

In  the  bosom  of  the  seas. 
And  his  prayer  was  heard  :  he  lingered 

Growing  weaker  day  by  day, 
Till  we,  watching   by  his  bedside 

In  the  morning  cold  and  gray. 


HOMEWARD  BOUND.  485 

Heard  the  sound  of  *'  Land  !  " 

And  turning  at  the  old  man's  eager  cry, 
"  Let  me  look  upon  my  country, 

Let  me  see  her  ere  I  die  ! " 


Then  we  bore  him  up  ;  his  glances 

Lingered  lovingly  and  long 
On  the  nearing  land,  whose  story 

Has  been  told  so  oft  in  song. 
And  at  noontide,  when  our  vessel 

In  the  crowded  harbor  lay, 
Came  a  priest  of  God  to  bless  him 

Ere  his  spirit    passed  away. 
And  we  laid  him  with  his  kindred 

In  the  churchyard's  sacred  ground  : 
Rest  eternal  was  the  ending 

Of  his  voyage  homeward  bound. 


Better  than  to  learn  the  story 

Of  his  father's  helpless  years, 
Of  his  young  wife's  tragic  ending, 

Maddened  by  appalling   fears. 

Years  have  passed  ;  the  blithesome  travellers 

Who  sailed  homeward  long  ago 
Now  are  scattered  ;  some  are  sleeping 

In  the  grave  so  dark  and  low. 
But  when  ocean's  voice  is  calling 

With  a  sad  and  solemn  sound. 
In  my  heart  awakes  the  echo 

Of  the  old  song,  "  Homeward  bound  "  ; 


486  HOMEWARD  BOUND. 

Though  to  me  a  deeper  meaning 

In  its  every  accent  lies, 
For  my  loved  ones  now  await  me 

In  my  home  beyond  the  skies, 
Where  the  present's  toil  and  trouble 

And  the  shadows  of  the  past, 
Fade  into  the  joys  celestial 

That  for  evermore  will  last. 


A    CHRISTMAS  LEGEND. 


HOW  the  wild  winds  shouted,  how  they  laughed  in 
glee, 
Holding  their  mad  revels  upon  land  and  sea  ! 
Over  hill  and  valley  pealed  the  thunder's  tone, 
But  the  storm  seemed  fiercest  in  the  forest  lone. 
Through  its  tangled  fastness,  at  the  close  of  day, 
Homeward  bound,  Sir  Walter  held  his  lonely  way. 
Round  his  path  the  tempest's  clarion  summons  rang, 
O'er   him    ice-bound   branches    struck    with     sullen 

clang  ; 
Shadow  upon  shadow,  night  and  winter's  gloom. 
Made  the  great  Black  Forest  seem  a  very  tomb. 
Snow-drifts  hid  the  pathway,  but  he  still  pressed  on 
Till  his  good  steed's  courage,  strength,  and  speed  had 

flown  ; 
And  when  midnight's  fingers  closed  the  gates  of  day 
He  was  wandering  blindly  in  the  woods  astray. 
Then  Sir  Walter  humbly  bowed  his  knightly  head ; 
"  Dear  Lord,  send  me  shelter  from   the  storm,"  he 

said. 
"  Thou  whose  laws  I  honor,  thou  whose  power  I  fear, 
Stretch  thy  hand  to  aid  me,  or  I  perish  here. 
By  thy  wondrous  mercies  to  the  earth  made  known, 
By  the  night  of  beauty  which  o'er  Bethlehem  shone, 
On  this  eve  of  Christmas,  Father,  do  I  claim 
Refuge,  food,  and  shelter  in  thy  dear  Son's  name." 
21*  487 


488  A    CHRISTMAS  LEGEND. 

While  he  prayed  tliere  glimmered  through  the  frosty- 
night, 
Close  before  the  wanderer,  a  welcome  ray  of  light. 
At  the  sight  Sir  Walter  hastened  on  with  speed, 
Swifter  sped  the  footsteps  of  his  jaded  steed, 
Till  he  reached  a  cottage  standing  rude  and  lone, 
Through    whose    narrow    casement    the    red  firelight 

shone ; 
There  in  haste  dismounting,  humbly  did  he  claim 
Shelter  from  the  tempest  in  the  Saviour's  name. 
Open  swung  the  portal,  and  the  knight  in  need 
Found  a  welcome  refuge  for  himself  and  steed. 

By  the  glowing  hearthside  brave  Sir  Walter  stood, 

Grateful  for  the  warmth  of  the  blazing  wood, 

While    his    boy-host    near    him    sweetly    spake    and 

smiled 
On  the  way-worn  traveller  of  the  forest  wild ; 
For  the  only  dweller  in  that  cottage  lone 
Was  a  child  whose  beauty  more  than  angel's  shone. 
He  with  deft  white  fingers  from  the  weary  knight 
Loosed  the  heavy  armor  shining  cold  and  bright; 
From  his  brow  he  helped  him  lift  the  gold-inlaid 
Helmet  on  which  glittered  the  Cross  of  the  Crusade ; 
Then  bade  him  sate  his  hunger  with  the  wine  and 

bread 
Which  on  the  rude  table  by  the  hearth  he  spread. 

Calm   and   clear  and   peaceful    came    the    Christmas 

morn. 
Jubilant  with  praises  of  the  Christ  new-born  ; 
And  Sir  Walter,  rising,  turned  to  go  his  way. 
But  before  he  parted  bent  his  thanks  to  say. 


A    CHRISTMAS  LEGEND.  489 

Then    the    boy-host    answered    in    the    same    sweet 

voice, 
E'en    whose    lightest   whisper   made    the   knight  re- 
joice : 
"  Thou  whose   heart  ne'er  faltered  and  whose  hand 

ne'er  failed 
When  the  Paynim  forces  thy  brave  band  assailed, 
Keep  thy  heart  as  spotless  and  thy  faith  as  pure, 
Grounded  on  God's  promise  ever  safe  and  sure, 
As  wlien,  battling  bravely  for  the  Holy  Shrine, 
Thou  didst  win  thy  laurels  in  far  Palestine ; 
Let  no  wealth  or  treasure,  let  no  earthly  fame. 
Be  thy  star  of  guiding,  but  thy  Saviour's  name — 
Talisman  of  power,  when  thy  life  shall  cease. 
To  unlock  the  portals  of  his  home  of  peace." 

Forth  rode  good  Sir  Walter,  pondering  on  each  word 
Of  tlie  child,  whose  lesson  all  his  being  stirred. 
When  across  the  silence,  borne  with  joyous  swell, 
Came  the  joyous  summons  of  the  Christmas  bell. 
And  the  opening  vista  showed  a  village  tliere. 
With  the  people  hastening  to  thejiouse  of  prayer: 
At  its  altar  kneeling  bent  the  brave  kniglit  low. 
For  in  pictured  beauty,  girt  by  taper's  glow, 
Shone  the  infant  Saviour,  and  the  face  that  smiled 
From  the  breathing  canvas  was  the  forest  child. 

And  the  story  telletii  how  Sir  Walter  laid 
Down  his  warlike  weapons,  and  within  the  shade 
Of  the  great  Black  Forest  dwelt  a  hermit  lone 
Where  the  Clirist-Child's  beauty  first  upon  him  shone, 
Keeping  his  heart  spotless,  keeping  his  faith  pure, 
Trusting  in  God's  promise  ever  safe  and  sure. 


KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  ORPHAN 


OUT  from  the  rosy  chambers  of  the  east 
The  Morning  in  her  dewy  splendor  carne, 
And  far  along  the  valleys,  blossom-crowned, 
The  wild  birds  hailed  lier  with  a  glad  acclaim. 

From  the  low  huts  dotting  the  fallow  meads 

The  smoke-wreaths  slowly  rose  to  greet  the  sun, 

And  the  first  sounds  of  life  by  hill  and  glade 
Proclaimed  the  duties  of  the  day  begun. 

But  fairest  shone  the  gentle  morning's  smile 

On  the  bright  scenes  round  royal  Alfred's  home, 

Where  clash  of  spear  on  shield,  and  martial  din, 
Challenged  the  echoes  of  the  azure  dome. 

Within  the  palace  moved  the  courtier  throng  ; 

For  Alfred  held  his  court  at  early  morn. 
With  clearer  reason  to  decide  each  case 

Ere  swayed  by  passions  of  the  noontide  born. 

So  on  his  throne  of  power  the  monarch  sate, 

And  round  him  thronged  his  lords  and  leaders  all- 
Brave  men  who  bore  the  token  of  each  fight 
That  freed  the  Saxons  from  the  Danish  thrall. 

But  on  that  morning  none  before  him  came 

With  cause  of  grievance  or  to  seek  redress, 

And  tJie  king's  questioning  glances  vainly  sought 

Amid  his  thanes  the  Earl  of  Holderness. 
490 


KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  ORPHAN. 


491 


As  o'er  its  humbler  brethren  of  the  wood 
The  regal  pine  its  warrior  brow  uprears, 

So  Holderness,  in  proud  pre-eminence, 

In  field  or  court  stood  foremost  'mid  his  peers. 

Of  giant  form  and  lion-heart  was  he, 

His  place  in  battle  by  liis  monarch's  side, 

Where  his  keen  weapon  marked  his  prowess  stern 
By  its  heaped  swatli  of  corpses  high  and  wide. 

And  Alfred  loved  him  for  his  courage  high, 
And  his  clear  mind  in  council  often  tried  ; 

But  vainly  now  for  many  morns  his  glance 

Sought  for  that  form  of  warrior  strength  and  pride. 

At  length  unto  his  lips  the  question  rose, 

His  deep  voice  fraught  witii  anxious  tenderness  : 

"  Why  from  our  presence  tarries  thus  so  long 
Our  well-beloved,  the  Earl  of  Holderness  ?  " 

Forth  from  his  place  amid  the  courtier  crowd 
Strode  Wulph,  a  warrior  famed  in  Alfred's  wars  ; 

The  storms  of  battle  round  his  life  had  raged. 
And  left  his  face  seamed  deep  with  many  scars. 

He  cried  aloud:    '' O  king!  bold  warriors  meet 
A  foe  'gainst  whom  nor  strength  nor  skill  avails — 

A  foe  who  enters  in  where  Pleasure  dwells. 
And  at  whose  touch  her  brightest  glory  pales. 

"Before  his  blow  our  bravest  veiled  his  crest : 
The  great  lord  earl,  my  liege,  is  now  no  more, 

And  his  good  lady  Alice,  slain  by  grief. 
Sleeps  by  his  side  upon  the  northern  shore. 


492        KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  ORPHAN. 

"  To  nie  tlie  news  was  borne  but  yesternight, 
And  much  I  grieve  to  tliink  the  great  earl  dead ; 

But  death  is  still  the  birthright  of  the  brave, 
And  all  his  tasks  on  earth  were  nobly  sped. 

^'  Yet  hear  me,  O  my  king.     Tiie  wide  domain 
Of  Holderness,  from  Humber  to  the  sea, 

Without  a  lord  reverteth  to  thy  hands  ; 

And,  my  good  liege,  I  pray  thee  give  it  me." 

Ere  Alfred  could  reply  to  his  appeal 

Wise  Thurstan  spoke  :   "  Nay,  sire;  at  thy  com- 
mand 
I  crossed  the  seas  and  to  the  Danish  court 

Bore  the  commission  of  thy  royal  hand, 

*'  And  by  my  wisdom,  from  experience  bought. 
Did  more  to  bridge  dread  war's  volcanic  gulf 

Than  all  the  hecatombs  of  foemen  slain 
In  the  fierce  battle  by  the  warrior  Wulph. 

■"  Give  me,  as  meed  of  duty  nobly  done, 

The  lands  from  Humber  to  the  German  Sea  ; 

And  trust  me,  sire,  no  pagan  hordes  shall  dare 
Cross  the  green  border  of  the  earldom  free." 

Then  sturdy  Wulph  made  answer  fierce  and  high. 
And  calmer  Thurstan  to  his  taunts  replied, 

While  Alfred,  sorrowing  o'er  his  subject's  death. 
Nor  thought  nor  answer  gave  to  either  side, 

Though  round  about  him  still  the  tumult  grew, 
As  friends  on  either  side  their  counsel  lent, 

Till  from  the  lower  entrance  of  the  hall 
A  cry  for  justice  on  the  air  was  sent ; 


KING  ALFRED  AND   THE  ORPHAN. 


493 


And,  pressing  slowly  through  the  eager  throng, 
A  woman,  worn  and  aged,  made  her  way, 

Leading  beside  her  a  fair  boy  whose  face 
Shone  in  its  beauty  like  a  morning's  ray. 

Leading  the  cliild  up  to  the  monarch's  throne, 
The  woman  cried  :  "  Behold,  to  thee  I  bring 

The  rightful  heir  of  Holderness,  to  claim 
The  care  and  the  protection  of  his  king. 

"  Late  orphaned  by  his  honored  parents'  death, 

His  claim  unto  his  heritage  ignored 
By  all  the  neighboring  chieftains,  whose  rude  clans 

To  waste  and  pillage  o'er  his  lands  are  poured  ; 

The  only  child,  the  only  hope  and  joy. 

Of  the  great  earl,  thy  subject  and  thy  friend — 

His  claim,  the  orphan's  claim,  demands  thy  care  ; 
Give  it  to  him,  and  Heaven  will  blessings  send." 

*'His  claim,  forsooth  !  "  an  angry  baron  cried. 

"  What  'gainst  our  foes  can  his  child-arm  avail 
When  war's  dread  messenger,  with  bended  bow, 

Rouses  the  dweller  of  each  Saxon  vale.''  " 

Forth  from  his.  place  close  to  the  nurse's  side 
The  boy-earl  stepped,  and  back  his  curls  he  threw 

From  his  fair  brow,  and  to  the  baron's  face 
Lifted  his  trutliful  eyes  of  azure  liue. 

And  when  he  spoke  his  voice  was  clear  and  strong 
As  though  amid  his  playmates  free  he  trod  : 

**  True,  my  child-arm  as  yet  can  wield  no  sword, 
But  for  my  country  I  can  pray  to  God." 


494        KING  ALFRED  AND  THE  ORPHAN, 

Then  from  his  throne  the  good  King  Alfred  rose 
And  clasped  the  boy's  small,  white  hand  in  his 
own, 

Saying :  **  The  lands  of  Holderness  belong 
Unto  this  child,  and  unto  him  alone. 

"  My  noble  thanes,  my  gallant  warriors  all, 
Shall  have  meet  guerdon  for  each  duty  done, 

But  the  broad  lands  from  Humber  to  the  sea 
Belong  by  right  unto  the  great  earl's  son. 

"False  were  I  to  the  trust  my  Maker  gave 
When  in  my  hands  he  placed  the  royal  dower, 

If  to  the  great  and  strong  I  lent  my  aid 

To  crush  the  weak  beneath  might's  cruel  power.'* 


LEGEND  OF  SAN  MIGUEL. 


**  ''PHE  place  is  desolate,"  he  said, 
1       "All  desolate  and  drear 
From  valley  unto  mountain   head  ; 
You  mark  the  ruin  Time  has  spread, 
And   Plenty  smiles   not  here. 

"  The  broken  walls,  the  sunken  root, 

The  fields  where  once  the  maize 
In   summer  flung  its  silken  woof 
Of  flossy  threads — all,  all  are  proof 
Of  brigliter,  happier  days  : 

"  Of  days  when   far  by  hill  and  stream 

The  sounds  of  life   were   heard, 
"When  in  the  autumn's  crimson  beam 
The  fruited  orchard-boughs  would  gleam, 
And  carolled  many  a  bird  ; 

"  When   round  the   Mission   Cross  arose 

My  people's  happy  home. 
And  there,  at  dawn  or  evening's  close. 
The  chimes'  glad,  silvery  summons  rose 

Up  to   the  azure  dome  ; 

"  And,  answering   to  the  merry  call 

Of  their  far-echoing  swell, 
From   lowly  hut  or  pleasant  hall 
Unto  the  stately  church  came  all 

Who  dwelt   at  San   Miguel. 

495 


496  LEGEND   OF  SAN  MIGUEL. 

"  Oh  !  these  were  days  of  joy  and  peace, 

Bright  days  of  hopeful  toil, 
From  which  eve  brought   a  glad  release. 
And  every  morrow  saw  increase 

The  wealth  of  herds  and  soil. 

^*  And   yonder,  placid,  bright,  and  blue, 

The  lovely  lake  was  seen, 
From  whence  the  earnest  toilers   drew 
The  rippling  waves  of  crystal  hue 

To  field  and   orchard  green  ; 

*'  The  lake   within   whose  bosom  fair — 

Or  so  our  legends  told — 
Dwelt  one  whom  Neptune's  envoys  bare 
To   durance   stern,  and  firmly  there 

They  made   liis  prison  hold  ; 

^*  A  subject  of  the   Sea  King's  sway 

Condemned  to  exile  here, 
Where  balmy  inland  breezes  play. 
Where   then   through   every  winding   way 

Wandered   the  mountain   deer. 

*''  And  here  he  dwelt  through  many  years, 

Their  number  none   may  know  ;• 
His   form  was  such   as  thrills  with   fears 
The   heart  when  on  the   gaze   uprears 
The   cobra's  shape   of  woe. 

^^  Seldom  by  mortals  was   he  seen, 

And   only  then  by  those 
Who  dared   to  tread   the  midnight  green 
Beside  the  lake's  star-lighted  sheen. 

Reckless   of  terror's   throes  ; 


LEGEND   OF  SAN  MIGUEL.  497 


"  Though   oft   throughout   the   summer  day 

Its   tranquil   breast   was   stirred, 
As  when   along  some   sheltered   bay 
The   whistling  winds   of  ocean   play, 
Though   here   no   storm   was  heard. 

*'  And   the  briglit   lake   divided   stood 

From    the   Salina's   flow 
By  a  broad  belt   of  upland   good, 
Since  levelled  by  that   fearful    flood 

Of  many  a  year  ago 

**  When   up  the  river's   winding  course, 

Re-echoing   wild   and  free. 
Far  louder  than  the   tempest's  force 
Was  heard,  in  accents   stern  and   hoarse, 

The  summons  of  the   sea. 

"  'Twas   then,   his   term  of  exile  o'er. 

The  hour  of  parting  came  : 
It  came  amid  the  sullen  roar 
Of  stormy  waves  dashed   on  the  shore, 

While  the   dread   lightning's  flame 

**And   the   fierce   thunder's  crashing  sound 

Reverberating  far, 
Shook   all   the  mighty  mountains  round, 
Until   the  country's  widest  bound 

Seemed  rent  by  Nature's  war. 

"  Oh  !   sacredly   my  people  keep 

The  memory  of  that  year, 
Which  marked  the  wildly  rushing   sweep 
Of  torrents  from  each   mountain   steep, 

And  left  this   ruin   here  ; 


498  LEGEND    OF  SAN  MIGUEL. 

"  When  the  lake's  boundaries  gave  way, 

And  down  the  valley  camcj 
Its   waters  in  resistless  sway, 
Bearing  upon  its  onward   way 

All  that  had  life  or  name. 

"  The   soldiers  keeping  watch  that  night 

At   San   Antonio  heard 
The   awful  thundering  of  its   might, 
And  rushing  forth  in   pale   affright, 

While  awe  each  bosom  stirred, 

"  Saw,  on   the  river's  crest  of  foam, 

The  serpent  seaward  glide 
Down  to  his  own   long-wished-for  home, 
Where,  fathoms  deep,  he  loved  to  roam 

'Neath  the   Pacific's  tide. 

"That  winter,   with   its  saddening  hours, 

Passed   slowly,   slowly  by. 
And  spring-time  came  with  grass  and  flowers 
To  deck  the  fields  and  crown   the  bowers, 

And  birds  sang  clear  and  high. 

"  But  oh !    the  ruin  far  and  wide. 

And  vanished  from  our  sight 
The  lake  whose  waves,  a  crystal  tide, 
Had  gladdened  all   the  valley  side. 

And  blessed  its   verdure  bright. 

"  Now  all  around  is  sad  and  still, 

And  seldom  sound  the  chimes 
Whose  voices  rose  o'er  dale  and  hill 
Like  echoes  of  the  heavenly  will 
In  the  dear  olden   times." 


AT  THE  GENERAL  RODEO. 

MAY,    185-. 


**  A  RISE,  for  the  day  is  breaking, 
jfi     The  timid  dawn  is  here, 
The  setting  stars  are  rising 
To  brighten  another  sphere. 

"  Ho,  Juan  !  Jose  !  Diego  ! 

'Tis  time  to  mount  and  ride 
Down  through  the  flower-gemmed  vega, 

Over  the  mountain-side. 

"Gather  the  straying  horses, 
Waken  the  slumbering  men  ; 

Lead  them  out  through  the  morning. 
Some  to  the  distant  glen, 

*'Some  to  the  forest  shadows. 
Some  to  the  mountain-side, 

Where'er  through  the  grassy  pastures 
The  cattle  wander  wide. 

"  See  that  no  run  is  sliglited, 

Let  the  widest  bounds  be  sought, 

And  into  the  great  rodeo 

The  scattered  herds  be  brought." 

Thus  to  his  men  the  grave  ranchero  spoke, 
And  at  his  call  the  lithe  vaqueros  woke  ; 

499 


5CO      AT   THE   GENERAL  RODEO. 

Upon  the  embers  broiled  their  matin  cheer, 

And  quaffed  their  morning  draught  of  water  clear  ; 

Saddled  their  well-trained  steed?,  and  o'er  the  waste 

Upon  their  errands  sped  in  fiery  haste. 

Swift  as  an  arrow  from  the  bended  bow 

Along  the  smooth  green  vale  the  coursers  go, 

Or  trace  the  narrow  pathway  up  each  height, 

Cross  the  tall  summits,  vanish  out  of  sight  ; 

And  soon  the  startled  echoes  wake  to  hear 

The  wild  halloo,  the  far  re-echoing  cheer, 

And  down  the  hills  and  o'er  the  smiling  plain 

Panting  and  wild-eyed  fly  the  herds  amain. 

From  every  side  the  living  torrents  run, 

Dappled,  or  brinded,  gleaming  white,  or  dun. 

Their  snowy  horns  in  the  clear  sunlight  glow 

Like  foam  flung  up  from  surging  waves  below, 

But  yet  instinctively  their  course  they  guide 

Where  the  rodeo-ground  stands  waste  and  wide  ; 

And  soon  by  thousands  there  they  waiting  stand 

Amid  the  morning  glory  of  the  land, 

While  all  the  air  is  balmy  with  the  sweet 

Breath  of  the  flowers  crushed  by  their  hurrying  feet. 

Around  them  now  the  arrieros  ride, 
Sons  of  the  soil,  dark-skinned  and  dusky-eyed. 
With  eager  gaze  they  scan  the  moving  mass. 
As  to  and  fro  with  tightened  rein  they  pass. 
Waiting  until  their  masters'  words  shall  say 
Who  first  shall  part  their  herds  upon  this  day — 
Their  masters,  men  of  every  clime  and  race  : 
The  Spaniard  with  his  proud  and  courtly  grace  ; 
Americanos  from  each  State  that  lends 
Stars  to  the  banner  o'er  our  hind  that  bends  : 


AT   THE   GENERAL  RODEO. 


501 


Blithe  sons  of  Erin,  pilgrims  from  the  Rhine, 

And  they  who  dwelt  in  France  beneath  the  vine  ; 

Their  homes  by  Calaveras'  distant  creek, 

Or  fertile  plains  'neath  Santa  Anna's  peak, 

Or  where  the  lake  in  lonely  beauty  lies, 

Or  Gavilan  seems  lifted  to  the  skies. 

They  sought  their  cattle  where  the  bland  airs  play 

Across  the  fertile  vale  of  San  Jose ; 

For,  all  unchecked,  the  straying  herds  were  free 

To  roam  o'er  wind-swept  miles  of  blooming  lea. 

Now  all  is  ready  !     See  yon  rider  pass 

With  tightened  rein  amid  the  moving  mass, 

Daring  the  lowering  fronts,  the  angry  eyes. 

And  deep-toned  bellowings  from  its  midst  that  rise 

Where  haughty  monarchs  of  the  herds  in  vain 

Essay  the  freedom  of  the  wild  to  gain. 

With  almost  human  knowledge,  human  skill. 

The  well-trained  steeds  their  riders'  wish  fulfil, 

Yet  not  unscathed  always  :   Death  looks  down 

Too  oft  upon  the  scene  with  angry  frown, 

When  cattle,  tortured  by  the  thirst  and  heat. 

Blinded  by  dust  torn  up  by  myriad  feet. 

Lashed  into  fury  by  the  warning  cry 

Of  watchful  guards  from  whom  they  seek  to  fly,. 

Plunge  wildly  forth,  their  freedom  to  regain 

In  sheltering  covert  or  extended  plain. 

But  happy  Fortune  seems  to-day  to  bless 

The  busy  toilers  with  her  fond  caress. 

Fast  speed  the  hours,  the  work  is  almost  done  \. 

High  in  the  heavens  rides  the  noonday  sun. 

In  many  groups  the  parted  cattle  stand, 

Waiting  the  glittering  knife,  the  heated  brand. 


502       AT   THE   GENERAL  RODEO. 

Hither  and  thither  hurrying  horsemen  ride, 
Moving  amid  the  maddened  living  tide. 
But  mark  how  yonder,  o'er  the  grassy  mead, 
Tlie  fierce  barroso  bull  at  headlong  speed 
Flies  hillward  !      From  a  hundred  eager  tiiroats 
Ring  hoarsely  out  commands  and  warning  notes. 
"Hi  !  Manuel,  hi!  "     The  nearest  rider  turns, 
Answering  his  name.     His  youthful  bosom  burns  ; 
He  sinks  the  rowels  in  his  charger's  flanks, 
And  speeds  away  'twixt  nodding  wild-oat  ranks 
That  lift  their  plume.d  crests  on  either  side. 
Gemmed    with    the    bright    Eschscholtzia's    hue   of 

pride; 
Onward  upon  his  race,  unknowing  fear. 
Hearing  afar  his  comrades'  ringing  cheer, 
Eager  to  prove  with  earnest  heart  and  will 
His  good  steed's  mettle  and  his  herdsman  skill. 
Onward  he  hurries  in  the  headlong  race. 
And  gains  upon  the  object  of  his  chase. 
Loosening  his  good  riata  as  he  runs, 
Trampling  the  blossoms  wooed  by  dews  and  suns. 
Nearer,  and  now  aloft  the  noose  is  swung; 
Nearer,  and  o'er  the  shaggy  head  is  flung  : 
He  hears  afar  a  cheer,  but  hears  no  more. 
For  soon,  alas  !  the  boy's  swift  race  is  o'er. 
As  the  rope  tightens,  turning  to  the  brunt, 
With  blazing  eyes  and  lifted  tawny  front, 
And  a  mad  bellow  filling  earth  and  air, 
The  bull  turns  on  his  captor  fiercely  there. 
Swift  circling  round,  the  youth  essays  in  vain 
The  unequal  strife  'gainst  such  foe  to  sustain. 
But,  fatal  moment  !  when  at  last,  unnerved. 
The  charger  for  a  moment  nearer  swerved. 


A  T  THE  GENERAL  RODEO.  503 

The  blazing  orbs  were  veiled,  the  stout  head  bent, 
And  steed  and  rider  crashing  eartliward  sent; 
And  o'er  the  twain  the  bull,  in  triumph  dread, 
Shakes    from    his   dripping    horns    the    blood-drops 

red.  "^^H.-^ 

A  cry  rings  out,  "  Manuel  is  down  !  "  and' theri'' 
Swift  to  the  rescue  haste  the  eager  men.    '  '-^  • 
One  stout- armed  giant  tosses  to  the  plain 
The  maddened  beast,  to  rise  no  more  again  ; 
While  others  toil  to  lift  with  care  and  speed 
From  the  poor  boy  the  burden  of  his  steed. 
Ah  !  clear  as  sunlight  in  the  summer  skies 
They  read  death  written  in  his  glazing  eyes. 
And  hear  him  falter  with  pain-laden  breath  : 
*'  Pray  for  us  at  the  hour  of  our  death  " — 
The  closing  sentence  of  the  sweetest  prayer 
Tiiat  keeps  man  from  the  demon  of  despair. 
Kneeling  beside  him,  see,  one  murmurs  o'er 
The  contrite's  prayer;  the  pale  lips  move  once  more, 
Pleading  for  pardon.     One  who  sped  to  bring 
Cool  water  from  the  nearest  bubl)iing  spring 
Bathes  hand  and  brow  ;   all  try  with  friendly  art 
To  turn  aside  Death's  cruel,  venomed  dart. 
But  the  lids  flutter,  and  with  one  low  moan 
His  spirit  to  the  judgment-seat  has  flown. 
And  men  whose  lives  had  known  rude  border  strife, 
And  all  the  dangers  of  wild  Western  life, 
Deemed  it  no  shame  that  pitying  tear-drops  rose 
And  fell  above  that  young  life's  sudden  close ; 
And  sadly  asked  they:  "  Who,  alas  !  will  bear 
Back  to  the  widow's  home  her  darling  heir  ? 
Who  will  dare  face  a  stricken  mother's  woe 
Above  her  son,  her  only,  thus  laid  low  ?  " 


504  ^^   ^^^   GENERAL  RODEO. 

An  aged  kinsman  of  the  youth  drew  near  ; 

On  him  devolves  the  task  the  bravest  fear. 

Soon  from  the  willow's  pliant  boughs  is  made 

A  jitter  rude,  and  pitying  hands  have  laid 

Upon  it  the  still  body  of  the  boy 

That  held  so  late  a  soul  athrill  with  joy  : 

And  the  sad  cortege  went  upon  its  way, 

O'er  blooming  vales,  'neath  forest  arches  gray, 

To  the  far  home  where  foaming  waters  made 

A  murmur  round  the  scenes  where  once  he  played. 

Then  Toil  with  clarion  summons  called  again 
His  votaries  to  their  daily  round  of  gain, 
To  track  the  herds  through  many  a  drear  defile, 
To  watch  from  eve  till  dawning's  rosy  smile, 
Counting  the  hours  of  guard  by  stars  that  glowed 
Or  paled  upon  their  far  celestial  road. 
But  many  a  year  a  rugged  wayside  cross 
Told  to  the  wanderers  there  the  widow's  loss, 
And  asked  the  passer-by  to  pause  and  say 
One  Pater  for  the  spirit  passed  away. 


36 


^v 


63 


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